UCSB LIBRARY
 
 No. 724. 
 
 Deacon Richmond. 
 
 3e pa.je 95
 
 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 
 
 BY MARY GRACE HALPINE. 
 
 " I thank ihee, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thon 
 hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed 
 them unto babes." 
 
 " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained 
 strength, because of mine enemies." 
 
 FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 IS c ro I) o r !\ : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY CARLTON & PORTER, 
 
 SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, -.'00 MULIiERBY-STBEET.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
 CARLTON & PORTER, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for 
 the Southern District of New York.
 
 TO 
 
 ME. AND MRS. WILLIAM C. BROWN, 
 
 THE 
 
 FAITHFUL FRIENDS AND COUNSELORS THROUGH 
 MANY A DARK HOUR, 
 
 QDtijj Book 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR.
 
 P E E F A O E. - 
 
 IT may be proper to state, that the story narrated in 
 the following pages is strictly true. All of its charac- 
 ters once moved and breathed, and part of them are liv- 
 ing now. 
 
 Some of our readers may consider the character of 
 Ernest to be most too perfect to be altogether natural, 
 and entertain doubts as to whether any such person ever 
 existed ; yet they would not think thus had they known 
 tlie dear boy, of whom as faithful a portraiture us human 
 hands can produce would fall far short of the original. 
 
 He was, indeed, an uncommon child ; superior to most 
 children, not only in the maturity of his intellect, but 
 in the elevation of his soul, and his history is one of the 
 most remarkable manifestations of the power and good- 
 ness of God that ever fell under our observation. Yet 
 eueh eases, though rare, are occasionally to be met with, 
 as many hearts can testify; and none but the spiritually 
 blinded could have seen him as he was, when first intro- 
 duced to the reader, and in the closing days of his life, 
 and fail to recognize the hand of God. And to us it 
 M "jins not unmeet that He, who was once a little child 
 himself, and who chooses, so often, "the weak things 
 of the earth to confound the mighty," in order that the 
 power of God may be made more manifest, should have 
 chosen infant hands to perform a work which wise and 
 experienced minds had striven in vain to accomplish. 
 
 The life and character of the infidel father affords a 
 striking illustration of the patience and forbearance of 
 God, as exercised toward his rebellious children, and 
 the simple means by which he often brings about the 
 most important results. The stammering tongue of u 
 babe in Christ, and a few lines from the pen of a dying
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 sister, were the feeble instruments by which God hum- 
 bled the heart which for many years had proved obdu- 
 rate to the most touching and convincing appeals. 
 
 The character of Deacon Eichmond is, we fear, a not 
 uncommon one, and speaks solemnly to Christian 
 parents of the danger of a too austere and rigid disci- 
 pline, and of the duty of rendering home pleasant, and 
 religion attractive to their children. This neglect, to- 
 gether with the inconsistencies of many who bear the 
 name of Christ, is one of the most fruitful causes of iu- 
 iklelity, in all its varied forms. Nature (which is but 
 .-mother name for God) has designed the season of youth 
 to be one of joy and gladness, and children cannot be 
 expected to love that which tends to render it otherwise. 
 
 We have now, in our mind's eye, certain individu- 
 als, the children of Christian parents, brought up to a 
 strict observance of every Christian ordinance, who as 
 soon as they left the paternal roof threw aside all re- 
 straint, and embracing the most pernicious doctrines, 
 plunged into every possible excess, simply because they 
 were, while young, debarred from the innocent pleasures 
 natural to youth ; and religion was rendered so dist.'ist"- 
 ful, that it was but another name to them for gloom and 
 discomfort. 
 
 Some writer has beautifully said, " That he who makes 
 truth disagreeable commits high treason against virtue." 
 And it is none the less true, that those" Christians who 
 give to our holy religion, which seen in its true light is 
 so exceedingly fair and lovely, and was first communi- 
 cated to us as " tidings of great joy," a gloomy and re- 
 pulsive aspect, inflict a lasting injury upon the cause- 
 that they profess to love and honor. 
 
 If the perusal of this unpretending volume shall lead 
 any such to the knowledge of their error, giving them a 
 more enlightened view of the obligations incumbent 
 upon them, there will be, at least, one who will not regret 
 the time and labor it has cost. 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAG 
 
 I. THE XEGLKCTED CHILD 11 
 
 II. ERNEST AND THE "WONDERFUL BOOK 19 
 
 III. THE FASHIONABLE MOTHER 23 
 
 IV. THK SOLEMN QUESTION, AND ITS ANSWER. 30 
 V. ERNEST AND HIS FRIEND TOMMY 33 
 
 VI. ERNEST RETURNS GOOD FOR EVIL 44 
 
 VII. RUTH VISITS THE DRUNKARD'S HOME . . . 51 
 VIII. ERNEST INTRODUCES HIS FATHER TO RUTH 58 
 
 IX. DEACON RICHMOND 65 
 
 X. THE STERN FATHER AND HIS MOTHERLESS 
 
 CHILDREN 73 
 
 XI. THE MEETING BETWEEN THE FATHER AND 
 
 SON 90 
 
 XII. MR. RICHMOND'S UNHAPPY MARRIAGE . . 100 
 
 XIII. THE INFIDEL FATHER SILENCED 110 
 
 XIV. MR. RICHMOND'S CONVERSATION WITH 
 
 RUTH 120 
 
 XV. ERNEST DISOBEYS HIS FATHER 144 
 
 XVI. MR. RICHMOND TAKES ERNEST TO THE SEA- 
 SHORE. . , . 158
 
 10 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAG 
 
 XVII. ERNEST AND HIS NEW GOVERNESS no 
 
 XVIII. MADAME DUPONT'S DISCOMFITURE 181 
 
 XIX. ERNEST is TAKEN ILL 195 
 
 XX. ERNEST RETURNS HOME 205 
 
 XXI. MR. RICHMOND GIVES ERNEST UP 219 
 
 XXII. PASSING OVER THE DARK RIVER 234 
 
 XXIII. PASSING FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE 243 
 
 XXIV. MR. RICHMOND'S PUBLIC AVOWAL OF HIS 
 
 FAITH IN CHRIST 265 
 
 XXV. MR. RICHMOND VISITS HIS NATIVE TOWN. 274 
 
 illustrations. 
 
 DEACON RICHMOND 2 
 
 RUTH'S DISAPPOINTMENT 122 
 
 MARGARET'S CONFUSION 193 
 
 ERNEST'S DEATH-BED 236 
 
 DEACON RICHMOND BLESSING HIS SON 285
 
 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 AND 
 
 HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE NEGLECTED CHILD. 
 
 IT was near the close of a pleasant day in 
 the early part of spring that Ruth Sidney, 
 after tying the bonnet of the youngest of 
 her little charge, and consigning her to the 
 care of an older sister, stepped out of the 
 small brown school-house, where she reigned 
 a queen, though with a mild and gentle sway, 
 and pursued her way homeward. 
 
 After proceeding a short distance, she 
 opened the side gate which led, though by a 
 circuitous route, to a stately, but rather 
 rambling mansion, surrounded by grounds 
 laid out with more than usual taste and 
 beauty, and partly shaded by huge elms,
 
 12 EENEST KICHMOND 
 
 which stretched out 'their giant branches 
 from every side. 
 
 As she was passing beneath one of the win- 
 dows, a sound struck upon her ear which 
 made her involuntarily pause and listen. 
 
 " Don't go away, Bridget. I feel sick, and 
 am afraid to stay alone," said the voice of a 
 child which she had heard before. 
 
 "Whist, ye little villin! ye're not sick; 
 it's making believe ye are!" said a sharp 
 wiry voice in reply. " It's not Bridget 
 M'Carty that will be cooped up from mom- 
 ing till night with the likes of yees, and not 
 taste one mouthful of God's blissid air for 
 one minit, jist." 
 
 The door closed with a heavy slam, and 
 the child's sobs redoubled. 
 
 After hesitating a moment Ruth ascended 
 the steps of the portico, and entered the 
 room whence the sobs proceeded by means 
 of an open window, which descended to the 
 floor. 
 
 It was lofty and spacious, and everything 
 about it indicated that its owner possessed 
 not only wealth, but a refined and cultivated 
 taste. Yet strangely out of keeping with all 
 this was the pale face of the neglected child, 
 whose disordered though rich attire showed
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 13 
 
 how much he needed the watchful eye of a 
 mother. 
 
 " What is the matter, Ernest ?" 
 
 " Mamma has gone away again," was the 
 mournful reply to the above question, " and 
 Bridget is so cross. O how I do wish that 
 mamma would not go away so much !" 
 
 A feeling of pity touched Ruth's heart as 
 she looked upon him. "I will stay with 
 you, darling," she said, drawing him toward 
 her. " And when you are all nice and snug 
 in your little bed I will tell you a story, or 
 sing you some pretty hymn." 
 
 The tears of childhood are quickly dried, 
 and he was soon laughing and chatting 
 merrily with his new-found friend. 
 
 " You have not said your prayers, Ernest," 
 said Ruth, as attired in his night-dress he 
 turned to the bed, which stood in one corner. 
 
 "My prayers?" echoed the boy, with a 
 puzzled air. 
 
 " Yes ; don't you know what that means ? 
 Did you never hear any one pray ?" 
 
 " O yes ; but I thought that no one but 
 ministers and Irish girls prayed. Bridget 
 prays to some one she calls the virgin Mary, 
 counting over a long string of beads. And 
 I remember, when little Cousin Eddie died,
 
 14 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 that a man they called a minister prayed at 
 the funeral. Papa was very angry with 
 mamma for taking me there ; he said it was 
 all nonsense, and foolish mummery." 
 
 Ruth asked him a number of questions, 
 and was astonished and shocked at his igno- 
 rance. 
 
 " Ernest," she said, " did you never hear 
 about God, the good God who made you, 
 and gave you so many beautiful and pleasant 
 things ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have heard papa talk about him. 
 But I didn't know that he was good ; I 
 thought he was some bad, ugly creature." 
 
 " Why, Ernest, what made you think so ?" 
 
 " O, because papa never speaks of him un- 
 less something don't suit him, and he flies 
 into a passion. And one day I asked him 
 who God was, and he said that he was 
 nothing but a bugbear, to frighten women 
 and children with. A bugbear is something 
 wicked, isn't it?" 
 
 " My dear child," said Ruth, deeply pained 
 and shocked to hear such language from the 
 guileless lips of a child, " your father does not 
 know God, or he would not speak of him 
 thus. He made you, and me, and every 
 creature that moves and breathes. If it
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 15 
 
 were not for his kind care we could not any 
 of us live for a moment. It is an awful 
 thing for any of his creatures to take his 
 holy name thoughtlessly or angrily upon 
 their lips." 
 
 "Did you ever see God 1 ?" inquired the 
 boy, after a thoughtful pause. 
 
 " No, Ernest. God does not live on the 
 earth ; he lives in heaven." 
 
 " Where is heaven ?" 
 
 ," Heaven is somewhere in the sky. We 
 do not know exactly where; but this we 
 know, that it is a very beautiful place." 
 
 " Have you ever been there ?" 
 
 " No, Ernest ; but I hope to go there some 
 day." 
 
 " Then if you never was in heaven, how 
 do you know that it is so beautiful?" in- 
 quired Ernest, fixing his eyes triumphantly 
 upon hers. "And if you have never seen 
 God, how do you know that he is so very 
 good, after all ?" 
 
 Ruth paused for a moment. "Ernest," 
 she said at last, "you told me the other 
 day that you thought your Uncle Charles, 
 whom you have never seen, to be a very 
 good man. How do you know that he is 
 good ?"
 
 16 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " O," exclaimed the boy eagerly, " because 
 he sends me so many nice presents. Every 
 time that papa goes to New York he sends 
 me some pretty thing or other. Only last 
 week he sent me a rocking-horse, such a 
 beauty ! You ought to see him." 
 
 "My child," said Ruth, laying her hand 
 upon his head, "the good God, of whom I 
 have been telling you, has done more for 
 you than this. He not only gave you all 
 that you eat and wear the bright sky, the 
 green trees, and the beautiful flowers but all 
 the friends who are so kind to you. And as 
 to heaven being a beautiful place, we know 
 that it is, because God has told us so in his 
 book." 
 
 "What book?" 
 
 "It is a book, Ernest, which tells us about 
 God ; which teaches us all that he wants us 
 to do while we live on the earth, and how 
 we can be made fit to go, when we die, to 
 that beautiful place called heaven, and live 
 with him forever." 
 
 Ernest was silent for a moment. Then 
 throwing his arms around Ruth's neck, he 
 exclaimed, " O, Miss Sidney, I wish I could 
 read that book ! If you have it, wont you 
 lend it to me ? I will be very careful of it."
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 17 
 
 " My dear boy," said Ruth, kissing him, 
 " nothing will give me greater pleasure. It 
 you will come into my room to-morrow I 
 will read it to you. But it is growing late. 
 I will now sing you a little hymn, and then 
 you must shut your eyes and go right to 
 sleep." 
 
 She then sang one of "Watts's hymns for 
 children. 
 
 The last concluding line had scarcely died 
 upon the air, when his quiet and measured 
 breathing showed that he was sweetly sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 Ruth arose, and brushing back the curls 
 that partially shaded his forehead, gazed 
 thoughtfully upon him. There lay the son 
 of an infidel father and a gay and fashion- 
 able mother ; a little heathen, in the midst 
 of a Christian community, scarcely conscious 
 of the existence of a God! Though evi- 
 dently of a frail and delicate constitution, 
 left by his unnatural mother to the mercy of 
 ignorant hirelings. And far worse than that, 
 his young and tender mind poisoned by the 
 example and teachings of a godless father. 
 
 " Has not God given me a work to do 
 here?" she thought. "It is but a child, to 
 be sure ; yet would it not be a joy untold,
 
 18 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 well worth the toil of a lifetime, to gather 
 one such lamb as this into the fold of Christ ? 
 To turn his feet into the right path ; to im- 
 pi-ess upon his little heart the knowledge 
 and the fear of God, that knowing him, he 
 might love him, and loving him, he might 
 dedicate his life to his service ?"
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 19 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 ERNEST AND THE WONDERFUL BOOK. 
 
 THE next morning was the Sabbath, 
 and as Ruth was seated in her room she heard 
 a low and gentle tap at the door. Upon 
 opening it she met the smiling face of Ernest. 
 
 "I could hardly wait to eat my break- 
 fast," he exclaimed, " I wanted so much to 
 see that wonderful book you told me about 
 last night." 
 
 Ruth went to the other end of the room, 
 and drawing aside a green curtain, which 
 hung in front of a quaint, old-fashioned 
 bookcase, took from one of the shelves a 
 large pictorial Bible, and laid it reverently 
 upon the table before him. 
 
 Ernest looked upon it with an expression 
 of mingled curiosity and awe. "Did God 
 bring it to you ?" he inquired, as he turned 
 the leaves over carefully. 
 
 " No, Ernest ; no one has ever seen God. 
 
 He put it into the hearts of wise and good 
 
 men to write it. At first there was only 
 
 one copy ; but now there are a great many. 
 
 2
 
 20 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 I told you last night, Ernest," continued 
 Ruth, drawing the child nearer to her, and 
 fixing her eyes seriously upon his counte- 
 nance, " that it was God who gave you every 
 earthly blessing that you possess ; but he has 
 done more for you than this ; he has given 
 for your sake his beloved and only Son. 
 And now if you will listen to me I will tell 
 you aboxit it." 
 
 She then proceeded, in language suited to 
 his childish comprehension, to give him an 
 account of the creation of the world, and the 
 means by which sin entered it. She then 
 told him of the birth of the child Jesus, 
 whose advent had been so long foretold : 
 his blameless life, his holy precepts, and his 
 sufferings and shameful death. 
 
 It would have been well worth the study 
 of an artist to have watched the varying ex- 
 pression of that sweet, thoughtful face as 
 Ernest drank in eagerly every word that she 
 tittered; to have looked upon those flushed 
 cheeks, those parted lips, and the large blue 
 eyes, which were fixed earnestly upon those 
 of his youthful teacher, and which shadowed 
 forth so distinctly and clearly every emotion 
 of his soul. 
 
 And when she came to where the Saviour
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 21 
 
 bowed his head upon the cross, and crying 
 with a loud voice, said, " It is finished !" his 
 breast heaved, his lips quivered, and, bury- 
 ing his face in the folds of her dress, he burst 
 into tears, sobbing so violently as to alarm 
 Ruth, who, taking him up in her lap, en- 
 deavored to soothe him. 
 
 She quickly changed the subject, telling 
 him how Christ arose from the dead, as- 
 cending into heaven to prepare a place for 
 those who love and serve him, and to inter- 
 cede with his Father for us. 
 
 Ernest Richmond's total ignorance of 
 points with which most children are famil- 
 iarly acquainted, at the first glance, seems 
 almost incredible. But it will be readily 
 accounted for when we reflect that his father 
 was an infidel, a bitter opponent of religion 
 in every form. He was one of the most 
 active members of a club, then in the zenith 
 of its glory, in the place where he lived, 
 which met once a week for the purpose of 
 ridiculing everything " pure, lovely, and of 
 good report," and reading an impious sheet 
 called the " Regenerator," now, thank God ! 
 gone into the oblivion which it deserves. 
 
 Mr. Richmond was extremely proud of 
 the unusual intelligence that Ernest evinced,
 
 22 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 and looked forward to the time when he 
 would be an active exponent of the prin- 
 ciples of which he was, himself, such a zeal- 
 ous advocate. To use his own words, he 
 was resolved that no child of his should 
 have his mind cramped and fettered by the 
 cant and bigotry of " priestcraft," by which 
 term he characterized everything that par- 
 took, in the slightest degree, of that holy 
 faith, for the establishment of which 
 
 " The son of God bowed to bo crucified." 
 
 In order to secure this, he carefully se- 
 cluded him from every place and person 
 likely to give him any idea of the existence 
 or character of God, determining, in his 
 own mind, that as soon as his son arrived at 
 a suitable age he would initiate him into 
 what he termed " the religion of nature and 
 of reason." 
 
 But God's thoughts are not our thoughts, 
 nor his ways our ways. He who chooses so 
 often the weak things of the earth to confound 
 the mighty, had chosen a young, inexperienced 
 girl by whom to bring to naught his wisest 
 and shrewdest calculations.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 23 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE MOTHER. 
 
 RUTH SIDNEY had taken but few steps in 
 the Christian's pathway, yet was her heart 
 overflowing with love for her divine Master 
 and his holy cause. 
 
 Early deprived of the guardianship of a 
 father, and with few to love, or to love her, 
 the feelings of her warm and sympathizing 
 nature were strongly enlisted in behalf of the 
 affectionate and intelligent boy, who in the 
 very hearing of the " church-going bells," in 
 the land of Bibles and the Sabbath school, 
 which gathers together, weekly, so many ot 
 Christ's little ones, was without knowledge 
 of the God who made him, and the Saviour 
 who died to redeem him. 
 
 The weakness of a naturally delicate or- 
 ganization, aggravated by the want of proper 
 care, was even then developing the seeds of 
 a fatal disease, and the caresses and sooth- 
 ing attentions bestowed upon him by Ruth, 
 so different from the careless, and often 
 begrudged services of the hirelings to whose
 
 24 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 tender mercies he had been left from his in- 
 fancy, were peculiarly grateful to him. 
 
 As they became better acquainted, they 
 spent together nearly all of the leisure time 
 that Ruth could spare from the duties of her 
 school ; sometimes in her own rooms, which 
 were in another part of the building, and 
 sometimes in the one set apart for Ernest. 
 
 This room was very beautifully furnished. 
 The soft, thick carpet was like velvet to the 
 foot. The snowy counterpane, which covered 
 his bed, was heavy with embroidery of a 
 rich and fanciful design. Its downy pillows 
 were covered with the finest and whitest 
 linen ; and the curtains, which floated like a 
 soft, fleecy cloud around it, were looped up 
 by clusters of roses carved in ivory, instinct 
 with grace and beauty. 
 
 If any of the children who may, perhaps, 
 read this book could have looked into this 
 pleasant room, and seen the beautiful pictures 
 that hung upon its walls, #nd the rare and 
 costly toys scattered profusely around, they 
 would doubtless have thought that Ernest 
 must be a very happy boy, and perhaps have 
 envied him. Yet had he spent there many 
 a lonely and unhappy hour. Upon that soft, 
 inviting couch he had tossed through many
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 25 
 
 a night of suffering, vainly yearning to look 
 upon the face of his mother, who was in the 
 midst of some scene of festive pleasure, un- 
 mindful of the holiest of all human obliga- 
 tions; unthought of and uncared for by 
 all, save the menials, whose ungentle move- 
 ments and loud voices jarred harshly upon 
 his sensitive nerves. 
 
 It cannot be thought strange by the 
 reader, that the heart of this neglected child 
 turned gratefully to her whose hand nightly 
 smoothed his pillow, and which rested so 
 often and so lovingly upon his burning tem- 
 ples; who taught him the first prayer his 
 lips ever uttered, and whose harshest re- 
 proofs were full of love and tenderness. 
 
 As we have before implied, Mrs. Rich- 
 mond was a gay and fashionable woman, 
 whose life was spent in one unceasing whirl 
 of dissipation. 
 
 She had some natural fondness for her 
 child, and was very proud of having him 
 brought in when she had company, that his 
 exceeding beauty might receive its iisual 
 tribute of admiration ; but the deep tide of 
 maternal tenderness, which swells in the 
 bosom of the Christian mother, was unknown 
 to her light and frivolous heart. Her morn-
 
 26 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 ings were generally spent in sleep, and she 
 was rarely at home of an evening, excepting 
 when she had company. And as Mr. Rich- 
 mond's business called him a great deal 
 from home, being often absent for weeks at a 
 time, Ernest was left almost entirely to the 
 care of servants, who often cruelly neglected 
 him. 
 
 Ernest's constitution was delicate, and he 
 was subject to frequent ill turns, which some- 
 times alarmed Ruth, though she hoped that 
 he would eventually outgrow them. 
 
 At one of these times Mrs. Richmond 
 came into his room, as was sometimes her 
 wont, to give him a hasty kiss, or to inquire 
 in regard to his welfare. She was dressed 
 for an evening party, and her rich bloom 
 and gorgeous attire contrasted painfully with 
 the pale cheek of the little invalid, whose 
 eyes were fixed wistfully upon her. 
 
 Ruth was present, and ventured to draw 
 her attention to his quick breath and fever- 
 ish appearance, and to suggest the necessity 
 of some medical treatment. 
 
 Mrs. Richmond laid her jeweled fingers 
 upon the temples of Ernest, and was evi- 
 dently startled by their rapid pulsation. 
 " He seems indeed to be ill," she said ; " and
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 27 
 
 must have a physician at once. I would 
 stay with him myself," she added, after a 
 pause, "but I have an engagement this 
 evening. Besides, I could do no good if I re- 
 mained ; I should be only in the way. You 
 are so much more used to him than I am. 
 I presume, after all, it is nothing but some 
 little childish ailment, and that he will be 
 quite well in the morning." . 
 
 There might have been something of the 
 pain and surprise in Ruth's heart visible in 
 her eyes as she heard this, for Mrs. Rich- 
 mond looked slightly confused, and still 
 lingered, as though she had something fur- 
 ther to say. " I am sure, Miss Sidney," she 
 said, at last, "I am very much obliged to 
 you for the care you have taken of my little 
 boy. I wish that I could repay you. If 
 pecuniary remuneration " Here she hesi- 
 tated as if she feared to offend. 
 
 Ruth's cheeks flushed, and for a moment 
 she remained silent. Then she took the lit- 
 tle feverish hand, which lay upon the coun- 
 terpane, and pressed it to her lips, saying, 
 as she did so, " For all the trouble I have 
 taken, madam, the love and companionship 
 of this dear child have more than repaid 
 me."
 
 28 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 To a heart less frivolous than Mrs. Rich- 
 mond's, there could not have been a keener 
 reproach than these simple words, together 
 with the look of love that accompanied 
 them, so vividly in contrast to the heartless 
 indifference of her, upon whom the boy had 
 a so much stronger claim. She might have 
 felt it to some extent, for murmuring a few 
 indistinct words of thanks, she hastily left 
 the room, saying, as she did so, " That she 
 would send Thomas at once for Dr. Man- 
 ning." 
 
 This physician visited Ernest, daily, for 
 nearly a week ; and under his skillful care, 
 he regained the appearance of his former 
 health, though Ruth's watchful eye could 
 discover a weakness and languor not visible 
 before. 
 
 Dr. Manning was a kind-hearted and wor- 
 thy man, as well as a skillful physician; 
 possessing a social and genial temperament. 
 He had become much interested in his little 
 patient and his youthful nurse, whom he 
 playfully termed " his little mother." 
 
 This endearing title pleased Ernest, and 
 by that name he often afterward called her, 
 as if to distinguish her from his own mother, 
 who, though she still retained traces of the
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 29 
 
 more than 'common beauty which had dis- 
 tinguished her in her youth, had grown 
 large and fleshy with increasing years. 
 
 My little mother ! If the eye of her who 
 boi*e that holy title should fall upon these 
 lines, how many tender recollections will it 
 awaken in her heart of the blue eyed, golden 
 haired boy, whose home is with the angels ? 
 No little head may rest upon thy bosom, 
 stirring in thy heart the deep fount of mater- 
 nal tenderness, yet thou hast not been, than 
 never canst be childless !
 
 30 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SOLEMN QUESTION, AND ITS 
 ANSWER. 
 
 RUTH had noticed with pleasure the daily 
 increasing interest that Ernest evinced in 
 divine things, but she did not dream how 
 deep the work was that was going on in 
 that little heart; though the strange ques- 
 tions that he would sometimes ask, so far 
 beyond his years, often startled her. 
 
 " Little mother," he said to her one night, 
 "you often tell me that you hope, when I 
 am a man, that I shall be a Christian. Why 
 can't I be a Christian now? Am I too 
 young ?" 
 
 " No, Ernest, you are not too young to be 
 a Christian." 
 
 " Nor too young to die ?" he said thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Nor too young to die, Ernest." 
 
 Ernest closed his eyes and remained silent, 
 and Ruth, thinking that he was sleeping, 
 was about to leave the room, when he sud-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 31 
 
 denly exclaimed, "Ruthy, what is it to be a 
 Christian 1 ?" 
 
 This was a solemn question, and Ruth felt 
 it to be such. Something like self-reproach 
 touched her heart; for while she had con- 
 versed much with him on the subject of re- 
 ligion, in a general sense, she had said lit- 
 tle to him about Christ, as the Saviour of 
 his own soul, thinking that he was, as yet, 
 too young to understand fully the great doc- 
 trine of the atonement, forgetting, in her 
 worldly wisdom that God often reveals unto 
 babes what he hides from the wise and 
 prudent. 
 
 She tried by simple words, suited to his 
 childish capacity, to make him understand the 
 nature of sin, and the necessity of a change 
 of heart, directing him to the Saviour, 
 whose pardoning and sustaining grace could 
 alone make him a Christian. 
 
 She was surprised, as she proceeded, at the 
 ease and readiness with which he compre- 
 hended her, and the true and just conclu- 
 sions at which he arrived, almost without an 
 effort. But finding after she had concluded 
 that he was thoughtful, and disinclined to 
 converse, she quietly left the room, leaving 
 him to his own reflections.
 
 32 EBNEST RICHMOND 
 
 ' One night, a night never to be forgotten 
 by her, Ruth was aroused from the slumber 
 into which she had just fallen by a half sob 
 at her bedside. Upon opening her eyes she 
 saw Ernest standing by her side, his little 
 bare feet peeping out from beneath his 
 snowy night-dress, the soft rays of the moon 
 which fell over him giving his pale face a 
 strange, unearthly aspect. 
 
 " It is only me, little mother," he said, in 
 a voice so sad and plaintive that it touched 
 the heart of the listener. 
 
 " Ernest, my dear boy, are you sick ?" in- 
 quired Ruth anxiously, taking him up in her 
 arms. 
 
 Ernest hid his face in her bosom, and sob- 
 bed convulsively for some minutes. 
 
 " I am not sick," he said, at last, in reply 
 to her repeated inquiries; "but I am such 
 a bad boy that I can't sleep." 
 
 Ruth supposed that it was some fault 
 committed during the day, which troubled a 
 conscience growing daily more tender and 
 susceptible, but was surprised to find, upon 
 further inquiry, that it was a general sense 
 of sin that oppressed that young heart with 
 such bitter suffering. 
 
 " Can't you do something for me ?" he in-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 33 
 
 quired, as Ruth, too much affected to speak, 
 made no reply. 
 
 Ruth arose, and throwing on a dressing- 
 gown, took a low seat by the window; 
 then, taking him up in her arms, pressed his 
 tearful cheek to hers. 
 
 " Ernest," she said softly, " listen to me. 
 I cannot help you, there is only one who can, 
 the dear Saviour who died for you. Can 
 you not go to him, Ernest ?" 
 
 " You have told me a great many times 
 that he don't love bad boys, and I am such 
 a bad boy," was the reply. 
 
 "But I have told you, also, Ernest, how 
 much Jesus loves little children. How when 
 he was here on earth he took them in his 
 arms and blessed them." 
 
 "I know," he said, shaking his head 
 mournfully; "but I can't think they were 
 such wicked boys as me." 
 
 Ruth paused a moment, in order to 
 collect her thoughts. Then placing her hand 
 upon his head, she turned his averted face 
 toward hers and said, "Look at me, Ernest; 
 don't you think that Hove you, my child 1 ?" 
 
 "I know that you love me, little moth- 
 er," he said, throwing his arms around her 
 neck.
 
 34 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 "Supposing, Ernest, that you had com- 
 mitted some serious fault which had dis- 
 pleased me very much, and you should come 
 in tears to tell me how sorry you were, do 
 you think I would refuse to listen to you ]" 
 
 " I am sure that you would not, Ruthy." 
 
 " And yet the dear Saviour loves you, O 
 how much ! more tenderly than I can love 
 you, Ernest. He is more willing to receive 
 you than you are to go to Him, more will- 
 ing to forgive you than you are to be for- 
 given. Go to him, my child, and he will 
 take you in his arms and bless you, just as 
 he did the little children of old. He will be 
 your guide and protector so long as life shall 
 last, and when that ends he will take you to 
 himself to dwell with him forever." 
 
 Ernest" raised his tearful face from the 
 loving embrace to which she had folded him. 
 " I don't like to go atone, Ruthy," he said 
 timidly, "I don't know what to say to 
 him." 
 
 There was no response hi words to this 
 touching appeal ; there was no need of it. 
 Ruth arose from her seat, and sank down 
 vipon her knees, throwing her arm as she 
 did so around Ernest, who nestled close to 
 her side.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 35 
 
 There was no" strain of studied eloquence 
 in the simple words that arose from her 
 lips, yet there was not a sound, not the 
 faintest sigh, but what found its way to the 
 ear of the Eternal. 
 
 There was great joy in heaven at the glad 
 tidings of the soul that was born that night 
 into the kingdom of God. 
 
 Before Ruth had concluded, Ernest's hand 
 had relaxed its convulsive grasp upon her 
 dress, while his head rested heavily upon her 
 arm; and glancing down upon him, she 
 noticed that his eyes were closed. 
 
 " Are you asleep, Ernest ?" she said. 
 
 " No," he replied, lifting his eyes to hers ; 
 " but I am, O, so very happy !" 
 
 "Happy, Ernest?" repeated Ruth, sur- 
 prised by the sudden change in the counte- 
 nance, a few moments before expressive of 
 so much suffering. 
 
 " Yes, Ruthy, the pain is all gone now." 
 
 " Gone from where, Ernest ?" 
 
 " From here," he replied, laying his hand 
 upon his heart. 
 
 The pale rays of the moon that came in 
 
 from the open window fell softly upon the 
 
 uplifted face of the kneeling boy, resting like 
 
 a halo upon the golden curls that clustered 
 
 3
 
 36 EKNEST RICHMOND 
 
 around the white forehead, and giving his 
 whole countenance a look of more than mor- 
 tal beauty. 
 
 Ruth gazed in silence upon him for a few 
 minutes, and then resuming her seat took 
 him again in her arms. 
 
 "And so you are very happy, Ernest ?" she 
 said, pressing his cheek fondly to her own. 
 
 "Very happy," he replied, in a half 
 dreamy, unconscious tone, with his eyes 
 fixed intently upon the starry heavens, as 
 though he saw something there which she 
 could not see. 
 
 " And you feel that your sins have all been 
 forgiven you ?" 
 
 " Have all been forgiven me," he repeated 
 in the same tone and manner. 
 
 Ruth said no more, unwilling to disturb 
 the holy serenity which seemed to have 
 taken possession of his soul, but held him 
 quietly in her arms until he fell asleep. She 
 then arose and laid him upon her own 
 bed. 
 
 Then kneeling down by the bedside, very 
 earnestly did her heart ascend in prayer to 
 God, that this might be no fleeting enthusi- 
 asm of the moment, but the strong faith, the 
 deep, abiding principle which would actuate
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 37 
 
 his whole after life. That he might be one 
 of those whose glad office it is to turn many 
 into the paths of righteousness, destined to 
 shine as the stars of heaven forever.
 
 38 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ERNEST AND HIS FRIEND TOMMY 
 
 THE careless observer would have noticed 
 no material alteration in Ernest's usual man- 
 ner ; but to Ruth's eye, who looked deeper, 
 and to whose sympathizing heart his every 
 thought was unfolded, there was a wondrous 
 change. 
 
 , Though possessing naturally a very love- 
 able and afi'ectionate disposition, Ernest had 
 some faults in his character which had oc- 
 casioned Ruth no little uneasiness. An 
 only child, indulged by his father in every 
 idle whim, he was somewhat inclined to be 
 willful and perverse, while his frequent sea- 
 sons of physical weakness and suffering dis- 
 posed him to be irritable and impatient of 
 contradiction. She had observed, also, an 
 inclination on his part to evade the truth, if 
 not to actual deception ; owing, no doubt, to 
 the evil example of the servants, who had 
 had the principal care of him. 
 
 It was beautiful to notice how earaestly 
 and successfully he resisted these easily be-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 39 
 
 setting sins, and how kind and pleasant he 
 grew to all around him. The servants no- 
 ticed it ? and wondered at the change ; and 
 even his mother, as she swept through the 
 nursery, in her costly robes, to make some 
 hurried inquiry in regard to his health, and 
 met the pleasant glance of those softly smil- 
 ing eyes, patted his cheek, calling him "her 
 little patient boy," and saying how much 
 she envied him his cheerful and happy dis- 
 position. 
 
 Mrs. Richmond was surprised at the 
 change, so suddenly brought about in Ern- 
 est, whose impatient complaints of her con- 
 tinual absence often annoyed and irritated 
 her; yet was she entirely ignorant of its 
 cause, ascribing it to the influence that Ruth 
 exerted over him. She, therefore, encour- 
 aged her intimacy with Ernest ; as it not 
 only relieved her from all care in reference 
 to him, but silenced the reproaches that 
 would sometimes sting her heart, even in 
 her hours of gayest mirth, as there passed 
 before her mental vision the pale face of her 
 neglected child. 
 
 As it was a part of Mr. Richmond's policy 
 to keep his son apart from all companionship 
 with the neighboring children, Ernest had
 
 40 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 no playmates, with the exception of a lad by 
 the name of Thomas Conway. Thomas was 
 two years older than Ernest, and one would 
 suppose, by looking at them, that there could 
 not be a great deal of similarity in their 
 tastes and feeling. Yet they both manifested 
 considerable affection for each other; and 
 Thomas used often to come into the 
 large, old-fashioned garden to play with 
 Ernest. 
 
 Thomas's parents were both intemperate, 
 and his habits and manners were such as to 
 render him a not very desirable companion 
 for Ernest ; but as Mrs. Richmond was 
 aware of their intimacy, and she noticed 
 nothing particularly out of the way in him, 
 Ruth did not like to take the responsibility 
 of forbidding him to come, though she en- 
 deavored to keep them apart as much as 
 possible. 
 
 One morning, as Ruth was sitting by the 
 window sewing, she saw Thomas strike Ern- 
 est and push him down. 
 
 She immediately threw down her work, 
 and ran out into the garden where the 
 two boys were standing. " What is the 
 trouble?" she said to Ernest, who, unmind- 
 ful of her approach, stood regarding his
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 41 
 
 companion with a look of sorrowful re- 
 proach. 
 
 " Tommy struck me and pushed me down, 
 because I wouldn't let him pick those pur- 
 ple flowers, that mamma has forbidden me 
 even to touch," he replied, pointing to a 
 costly plant that Mrs. Richmond valued 
 very highly. 
 
 "I didn't, nuthor!" returned Thomas 
 boldly, unconscious that Ruth had seen him 
 from the window. " I haint touched him ! 
 He fell down hisself." 
 
 "Thomas," said Ruth, looking him stead- 
 ily in the eye, " you have been a very bad 
 boy. You have not only been unkind and 
 rude to Ernest, but have told a lie to hide it. 
 You must not come into the garden any 
 more to play with Ernest." 
 
 Then taking Ernest by the hand, she led 
 him into the house. 
 
 "O what a wicked boy Tommy is," he 
 exclaimed, as Ruth resumed her seat by 
 the window, "to tell such a wrong story!" 
 
 Ruth felt that this was a favorable oppor- 
 tunity for impressing upon his heart a use- 
 ful lesson. So she laid down her work and 
 drawing him to her side, told him something 
 of Tommy's history. She spoke of the un-
 
 42 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 kindness of his mother, the blows and curses 
 that he received from the hands of his drunk- 
 en father. When inclined to do well, how 
 few there were to speak a kind, encouraging 
 word to him, or to raise a warning voice 
 when his feet were turning the downward 
 way. She contrasted his pleasant home, 
 where he was surrounded with every com- 
 fort, with the dreary and cheerless abode in 
 which Tommy lived, which she had once 
 visited on some errand of mercy. 
 
 "My dear boy," she said, in conclusion, 
 laying her hand upon Ernest's head, who 
 was sitting upon a stool at her feet, " don't 
 you think that you ought to be very grateful 
 to God, who has given you so many blessings, 
 and forgive and pity this poor, neglected 
 child, to whom he has given so few ?" 
 
 As Ruth proceeded, the look of indigna- 
 tion upon Ernest's countenance changed to 
 one of pity. And when she had concluded, 
 he exclaimed, 
 
 " O Ruthy, I am a much moi*e wicked boy 
 than poor Tommy is ! God has a great deal 
 more reason to be angry with me than with 
 him. And I have been so proud and thought 
 myself so good. But can't something be done 
 for Tommy? Wont you talk with him, little
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 43 
 
 mother, and tell him how wrong it is for 
 him to do so, just as you talk with me?" 
 
 " There has been something done for him, 
 Ernest. Only a short time since a kind lady 
 clothed him neatly, and took him into the 
 Sabbath-school. Yet before the following 
 week was out his father had taken from him 
 every article and sold them for rum. So it 
 seems to be of little use." 
 
 Ernest said no more, but throughout the 
 day appeared unusually silent and thoughtful. 
 
 When night came, he kneeled down and 
 repeated his usual prayer. Then after pray- 
 ing, as was his wont, for papa and mamma, 
 and his little mother, he concluded with 
 these words : " O Lord, wilt thou forgive 
 and bless the little boy who struck me and 
 told a lie?" 
 
 The fervor and childish simplicity with 
 which this was said strongly affected Ruth. 
 She made no comments, however, yet as she 
 bent over him to give him the good-night 
 kiss, a feeling akin to reverence stole over 
 her as she gazed upon him, and there came 
 into her mind the words of our blessed 
 Saviour, " Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 Ah, how little did she think, then, how 
 near he was to that kingdom !
 
 44 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ERNEST RETURNS GOOD FOR EVIL. 
 
 A FEW days after, as Ruth was seated at 
 ail open window watching Ernest, who was 
 playing in the garden beneath, she noticed 
 Thomas in the road beyond, with his hands 
 thrust into the furthest depths of the pock- 
 ets of his ragged trousers, whistling "Yankee 
 Doodle ;" keeping up, in the mean time, a sort 
 of accompaniment with his bare feet, until the 
 clouds of dust he raised almost concealed 
 him from view. Yet ever and anon he would 
 pause, and cast wishful glances toward the 
 garden, from which he was now shut out. 
 
 "Tommy, Tommy," said a soft, childish 
 voice. 
 
 Thomas paused, and looking toward the 
 place whence the sound proceeded, saw Ern- 
 est, peering through a broken piece of the 
 fence. He did not move, however, but 
 stood looking at him with a half-angry, 
 half-ashamed expression upon his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Come here, Tommy, I have got some-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 45 
 
 thing for you," repeated Ernest, holding out 
 his hat, which was full of ripe cherries. 
 
 As the boy moved slowly toward him 
 Ruth stepped out upon the portico, that she 
 might hear more distinctly the conversation 
 which passed between them. 
 
 "I don't want to rob you of yer cherries, 
 Erny," said Thomas, while a softened ex- 
 pression passed over his countenance, cast- 
 ing a wishful look, in the mean time, at the 
 tempting fruit. 
 
 " O yes, Tommy, take them, do. I picked 
 them on purpose for you." 
 
 After Ernest had transferred them from 
 his own to Tommy's crownless hat he heaved 
 a deep sigh, and looking up into his com- 
 panion's sun-burnt face, said tremulously, 
 " O, Tommy, you don't know how badly you 
 have made me feel !" 
 
 "I didn't mean to strike you so hard, 
 Erny," said Thomas after a pause, evidently 
 thinking that he referred to the blow he 
 gave him. 
 
 "O it isn't that, it isn't that, Tommy!" 
 returned Ernest quickly. " I didn't mind 
 that. You didn't hurt me, at least not much 
 if any. It is about your soul I was think- 
 ing."
 
 46 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 "My soul?" repeated Thomas, looking 
 wonderingly into the little pale face that 
 was lifted so earnestly to his. Then forcing 
 a laugh, and assuming his usual reckless air, 
 he added, "You don't know that I've got 
 any." 
 
 " O yes I do, and you know it too, Tom- 
 my." ' 
 
 Thomas made no reply, and after a little 
 pause Ernest continued: "I used to be a 
 very bad boy, Tommy, much worse than 
 any boy I know of, at least I think so. I used 
 to tell wrong stories and get angry, O very 
 often. But since I have learned how wrong 
 these things are, and how displeased God is 
 with those who do them, I have tried to do 
 different. And I am, O ever so much hap- 
 pier than I used to be ! Wont you try too, 
 Tommy, just to please me?" 
 
 The eyes which were raised so beseech- 
 ingly to his, and the little thin hand, which 
 in its earnestness of appeal took hold of the 
 buttons of the torn and soiled jacket, evi- 
 dently touched the boy's better feelings. 
 But, ashamed of the emotion that he was un- 
 able wholly to conceal, he said gloomily, 
 
 " It's of no use, Erny. It's all very well for 
 you, and the likes of you, to try to be good,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 47 
 
 as you call it. There is some difference, I 
 fancy, in the son of Squire Richmond, the 
 lawyer, and the son of Bill Conway, the 
 drunkard. People would laugh at the idea 
 of my being good." 
 
 " But in God's eyes there is no difference, 
 Tommy," persisted Ernest; "he loves us 
 just the same." 
 
 " It looks like it, don't it ?" exclaimed the 
 boy with an oath. " Look at my home and 
 yourn, and my clothes and yourn. O it's 
 very well, this preaching, but you can't make 
 me believe it." 
 
 As the oath fell upon his ear, Ernest shrank 
 away from his companion with a look of 
 grief and horror. " Don't swear, Tommy," 
 he said. 
 
 "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, 
 Erny," said Thomas apologetically. "But 
 as to swearing, that's nothing ; father swears, 
 you know. And as for that matter," he 
 added, casting a keen glance at his com- 
 panion's face, " so does your father, don't he ?" 
 
 Ernest's cheeks flushed and his eyes 
 drooped. "I know that papa does swear 
 sometimes," he said. "But then he don't 
 know how wrong it is ; when I have told 
 him he will leave it off."
 
 48 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Thomas burst into a loud laugh. " Well," 
 he exclaimed, " if you can make a Christian 
 out of Squire Richmond I shall believe that 
 there is something in religion. But I'm 
 afraid that you'll find him a hard cus- 
 tomer." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Tommy," 
 said Ernest, with as much show of indigna- 
 tion as his gentle nature would admit. 
 " Papa is a real kind man, that I know. And 
 as to being a Christian, I .don't believe he 
 ever saw a Bible. There never was one in 
 the house until Miss Sidney came here." 
 
 "Never saw a Bible!" repeated Thomas, 
 with another laugh. " If that isn't a good 
 one. Don't you believe that story, Emy. 
 He has seen lots of 'em, and read 'em, too. 
 He says that they're nothing but a pack of 
 lies." 
 
 " Did you ever hear papa say that, Tom- 
 my?" 
 
 "I reckon I have," responded Thomas 
 coolly, " more times than you could shake a 
 stick at. I heard him tell Dr. Manning, 
 only last winter, 'that he didn't mean that 
 your head should be filled with the nonsense 
 that he stuffed his children's heads with.' 
 And it's my opinion that he wont more'n
 
 AND HIS LITTLE 'MOTHER. 49 
 
 half like Miss Sidney's doings. Your father 
 is an infidel, that's what he is." 
 
 "An infidel?" repeated Ernest, with a 
 puzzled air. " What does that mean, Tom- 
 my?" 
 
 "You ask Miss Sidney what it means; and 
 if your father aint one, that's all !" 
 
 " Well, I will, Tommy. But wont you 
 come next Sunday afternoon and hear Miss 
 Sidney read to me ? She tells such beauti- 
 ful stories too, I am sure you will like it." 
 
 " No, not I. Miss Sidney hates the sight 
 of me. The last time I saw her she gave 
 me a long lecture, and I'm in no great hurry 
 to see her again. It is to pretty boys like 
 you, with clean clothes, smooth hair, and 
 lily faces, that such as she takes a fancy to, 
 and not to the likes of me." 
 
 As Thomas said this he turned away, and 
 Ernest slowly entered the house, with a 
 sober look upon his face. 
 
 The next day, after sitting silently by Ruth 
 for some minutes, apparently in a deep study, 
 Ernest suddenly exclaimed, "Ruthy, what 
 is an infidel ?" 
 
 " An infidel ?" repeated Ruth, bending a 
 surprised look upon that little sober face. 
 Then suddenly recollecting his conversation
 
 50 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 with Thomas the day before, she said, " An 
 infidel, Ernest, is one who believes that there 
 is no God." 
 
 " Is papa an infidel ?" 
 
 Ruth hesitated. "My dear," she said 
 evasively, "I have never seen your father, 
 so it is impossible for me to tell you posi- 
 tively whether he is or not. If I were -in 
 your place I would not trouble myself about 
 such things. You are too young to under- 
 stand then fully." 
 
 " Thomas Conway says that he is ; but I 
 don't believe it. How very lonely it would 
 be if there was no God. Don't you think so, 
 little mother ?" 
 
 " It would indeed, my dear boy," returned 
 Ruth, a sigh bursting from the bosom of the 
 fatherless girl as she thought how desolate 
 and dreary her life had been were it not for 
 the presence of that Friend who had so often 
 verified his precious promise, "I will never 
 leave or forsake thee."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 51 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 RUTH VISITS THE DRUNKARD'S HOME. 
 
 SOME portion of the conversation that 
 Thomas had with Ernest filled Ruth's heart 
 with no little self-reproach. Considering 
 him as completely hardened in his evil ways, 
 and misled by the reckless, defiant manner 
 with which he met her advances, she felt 
 that she had addressed him more in the lan- 
 guage of rebuke than that of entreaty, and 
 had, therefore, failed to win his confidence 
 and secure his attention. 
 
 She determined to do what she could to 
 repair her error. So the next day she set 
 out for the house where he lived, which was 
 situated on the outskirts of the town. 
 
 Its forlorn and miserable appearance, the 
 broken gate, the windows, through whose 
 broken panes were thrust here and there an 
 old hat or coat, and the many nameless evi- 
 dences of want and discomfort, showed, even 
 to the eyes of the most careless observer, 
 that it was the drunkard's home. 
 
 As Ruth approached the house, she saw 
 4
 
 52 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 Thomas m the door-yard cutting wood. 
 Ragged and dirty as he was, she could not 
 help admiring the careless, untaught grace of 
 his attitude, as evidently weary of the violent 
 exercise, he stood leaning upon his ax, with 
 one foot upon the stick of wood beside him. 
 The tangled mass of jetty hair was brushed 
 back from the broad, full forehead, indicating 
 the possession of more than usual intelli- 
 gence ; while there was a fire and energy in 
 his dark eyes, and an expression of mingled 
 pride and resolution around the mouth, 
 which showed that he was one of those 
 whose influence would be powerful for good 
 or for evil. 
 
 A half smile played around his lips as he 
 gazed out upon the clear blue sky and the 
 distant hills, which were clothed in all the 
 bloom and beauty of a summer morning ; 
 and its quiet loveliness evidently had a soft- 
 ening influence upon him. Yet its expres- 
 sion instantly changed as his eye fell upon 
 Ruth, and a lowering, sullen look overspread 
 his countenance. 
 
 The tones in which Ruth addressed him 
 were gentle, even tremulous with feeling ; for 
 her heart yearned over the neglected boy as 
 she looked around, and thought of the dis-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 53 
 
 advantages under which he labored. But 
 what she said to him seemed to make no 
 more impression upon him than upon the log 
 of wood at his side. With a gesture of im- 
 patience he turned away, and taking up the 
 ax, he resumed his work with a force and 
 energy that nearly drowned her voice. And 
 after vainly striving, for some minutes, to 
 arrest his attention or elicit a reply, weary 
 and disheartened, Ruth retraced her way 
 homeward. 
 
 " Papa is coming !" exclaimed Ernest a 
 day or two after, bursting into Ruth's room, 
 his face radiant with delight. " Mamma has 
 had a letter from him, and we are expecting 
 him every minute. C^me into our part, and 
 let us stand at the parlor window and watch 
 for him." 
 
 "I am not acquainted with your father, 
 and it would not be proper, my dear," re- 
 plied Ruth, drawing the child closely to her, 
 for a sad foreboding entered her heart, that 
 the days of their pleasant intercourse were 
 nearly over. 
 
 As she said this there came the sound of 
 rapidly approaching wheels. " That is papa, 
 he has come !" exclaimed Ernest, breaking 
 from her embrace and darting from the
 
 54 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 room. The next minute he was running up 
 the graveled walk which led to the gate, 
 which he reached just in time to be caught 
 up in the arms of a tall gentleman who was 
 descending from a carriage. 
 
 Mr. Richmond did not let go of Ernest, 
 who clung fondly around his neck, but hold- 
 ing him closely to his heart, carried him into 
 the hall, where he set him down. Then 
 opening a door upon the right, he entered a 
 room where a lady lay reclining upon a sofa, 
 with a weary, languid expression upon her 
 countenance. 
 
 It was Mrs. Richmond, who half arose 
 from her recumbent position as he entered. 
 
 The husband and % wife had been parted 
 some months ; but no one would have sup- 
 posed it from the careless, indifferent manner 
 with which she greeted him. 
 
 The loving light faded from Mr. Rich- 
 mond's eyes as they rested upon her, and a 
 half sigh arose to his lips. But checking it, 
 he just touched the hand extended to him, 
 and pressing his lips lightly 'upon her cheek, 
 took a seat by her side. Then, after reply- 
 ing to a few languid inquiries from her, he 
 turned to Ernest, who sprang eagerly to the 
 arms outstretched to him.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 55 
 
 One would hardly hare recognized the 
 features, stern almost to haughtiness in their 
 repose, in the warm light that flooded them ; 
 the dark eyes grew luminous, and the lips 
 softened into an expression of almost wo- 
 manly tenderness as he looked upon his 
 boy. Weary and exhausted, Ernest lay quite 
 still in his father's arms, and as the flush of 
 excitement faded from his cheeks, he had 
 leisure to observe how pale and thin he had 
 grown. 
 
 " Have you been sick, Ernest ?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " No, papa, not very. But I don't know 
 how it is, everything seems to tire me of 
 late." 
 
 A sad foreboding entered Mr. Richmond's 
 heart, for of four lovely children, this was 
 the only one that was left him. 
 
 " What is the matter with Ernest, Julia ?" 
 he said, turning to his wife, who had sank 
 back upon the sofa, his voice and counte- 
 nance changing to one of unusual sternness. 
 " You wrote me that he was as well as 
 usual." 
 
 "And so he is," returned his wife care- 
 lessly. " I don't see but what he looks as 
 well as he did when you went away. He
 
 56 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 always would have his sick days, and I sun- 
 pose this is one of them." 
 
 "You suppose" repeated Mr. Richmond, 
 irritated at her indifferent manner. "If you 
 still lead the life that you have always led 
 since our marriage it is little you would 
 know about it. It passes my comprehension 
 how a mother can be so criminally neglect- 
 ful of her child." 
 
 "I tell you what it is, Mr. Richmond," re- 
 torted his wife, her eyes flashing, and the 
 energy of her look and tone quite a contrast 
 to her usual listless manner, " if you thought 
 when you married me that you married a 
 household drudge you are much mistaken." 
 
 " I supposed that I had married a reason- 
 able woman," returned her husband still 
 more angrily. "But I find " 
 
 Here a little soft hand was placed upon 
 the lips that were speaking such bitter 
 things. "Papa, dear papa," said Ernest, rais- 
 ing his eyes beseechingly to his father's face. 
 
 What was there in that gentle touch 
 which was such a powerful check to the 
 angry passions which were struggling for 
 utterance in his heart ? 
 
 Mr. Richmond drew that little head down to 
 its former resting-place and remained silent.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 57 
 
 Mrs. Richmond, after waiting in vain for 
 him to finish his sentence, had recourse to 
 her pocket handkerchief and smelling-bottle, 
 exclaiming between her sobs, " That she 
 was a wretched woman, that she wished she 
 had never been born," with sundry other 
 expressions of a similar nature, and quite as 
 agreeable to hear; which, however, failed 
 to elicit any reply from her husband, who 
 sat motionless, with compressed lips, and 
 gaze fixed intently upon Ernest, whose eyes 
 wandered from one to the other with a sad, 
 troubled expression upon his countenance 
 that was pitiful to behold. How did he 
 yearn to bring together those two embit- 
 tered, alienated hearts, and fill them with the 
 peace and love that glowed so warmly in 
 his own. But both these feelings, and the 
 means by which to accomplish what he so 
 much desired to bring about, were too ill- 
 defined for his immature mind to grasp 
 them. And so he, too, was silent, wonder- 
 ing in his little heart why it was that papa 
 and mamma did not love each other, and 
 why it was that they were so unhappy. 
 The effect of this want of harmony on their 
 part was evident to him, but the cause lay 
 too deep for him to discover.
 
 68 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ERNEST INTRODUCES HIS FATHER TO 
 RUTH. 
 
 " Now I believe I have seen all of your 
 treasures, Ernest," said Mr. Richmond the 
 next morning, after he had admired to his 
 heart's content the infant progeny of his pet 
 rabbit, which Ernest had brought into the 
 breakfast-room hi a little basket to show to 
 his father. 
 
 " No, indeed, papa," returned Ernest 
 eagerly ; " you haven't seen the best 
 and dearest of them all yet, my little 
 mother." 
 
 " Your little mother ?" repeated his father 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " Yes, papa, my little mother," said Ernest 
 simply, unconscious that she needed any 
 other designation. " I tried to coax her to 
 come in and see you last night, but I couldn't 
 get her to come." 
 
 " What does the child mean, Julia ?" said 
 Mr. Richmond, turning to his wife with a 
 puzzled look, who had just entered the 
 breakfast-room, which, late as it was, was
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 59 
 
 earlier than her usual breakfast-time. " Who 
 is it that Ernest calls his little mother ?" 
 
 "It is a Miss Sidney; the young school 
 teacher, who, you remember, had a two years' 
 lease of the three rooms in the south wing 
 when you bought the house. She is very 
 fond of Ernest, who is a great deal with 
 her." 
 
 " And how did he come to give her such 
 a curious title ?" 
 
 " O he took that from Dr. Manning. 
 That was the name he gave her once when 
 Ernest had one of his ill turns, and so he 
 has called her by it ever since." 
 
 During this conversation Ernest stood at 
 the window looking out into the garden. 
 "There she is, papa," he exclaimed sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Where ?" inquired his father, going to 
 the window. 
 
 " There, down by the cherry-tree." 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked in the direction to 
 which Ernest pointed. The face was turned 
 from him, but he noticed that the figure was 
 slight even to childishness. "She is small 
 enough to warrant that title," he said. 
 
 "Yes, papa," returned Ernest. "But 
 now please to come out into the garden, I
 
 60 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 want you to talk to her. She is so kind and 
 good that I love her dearly, and I am sure 
 you will." 
 
 "But do you think she will love me, 
 Ernest?" said his father laughing. "It 
 would be a pity to have the love all on one 
 side." 
 
 " I know that she will, papa." 
 
 " What makes you so certain of that, my 
 son?" inquired Mr. Richmond, looking down 
 smilingly into the eyes that were lifted so 
 earnestly to his. 
 
 "O because she says that we ought to 
 love everybody." 
 
 "Well, if she loves everybody that will 
 include me, I suppose." And partly to 
 please Ernest and partly to gratify his own 
 curiosity, Mr. Richmond took his hat, and 
 taking hold of Ernest's hand, walked out into 
 the garden toward the place Avhere Ruth 
 stood. 
 
 She did not observe their approach ; her 
 eyes were fixed upon the beautiful prospect 
 stretched out on every side, and as her heart 
 expanded under the influence of its quiet 
 loveliness, it instinctively ascended to the 
 glorious Giver of it all. 
 
 Ernest ran a little ahead of his father, and
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 61 
 
 gently pulling Ruth's dress, exclaimed, 
 "Good morning, little mother. I have 
 brought my papa to see you." 
 
 The color deepened in Ruth's cheeks as 
 she turned her eyes upon him. Yet there 
 was something in the expression of her 
 countenance that checked the smile that 
 arose to Mr. Richmond's lips at the novelty 
 of their introduction. 
 
 " Mrs. Richmond tells me that you 
 have been very kind to my little boy," 
 he said, inclining his head respectfully. 
 "I trust that you -have not found him 
 troublesome." 
 
 The hand that was laid so caressingly 
 upon that little head spoke more plainly 
 than words. "N"ot in the least," she re- 
 plied. " On the contrary, he is a great deal 
 of company for me." 
 
 After conversing a few minutes upon 
 different topics, Mr. Richmond was about 
 to turn away, when a sudden thought 
 seemed to strike him. "Miss Sidney," he 
 said abruptly and with some embarrassment, 
 " excuse me, but you have been a good deal 
 with Ernest, and I thought that perhaps you 
 might know. It strikes me that he is look- 
 ing pale and thin. Do you think that there
 
 62 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 is anything in particular the matter with 
 the child ?" 
 
 Ruth looked thoughtful. "Ernest does 
 not seem to be so strong as other children 
 of his own age," she said ; " the least excite- 
 ment or over exertion seems to tire him. 
 But whether this is owing to the weakness 
 of a naturally delicate organization, or to 
 the effect of any latent disease, I am unable 
 to say. I should advise you to consult some 
 physician hi regard to him at once." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Sidney ; I think I will 
 take your advice. Still I cannot think that 
 it is anything very serious, he looks so bright 
 and animated. Yet it may be as well for 
 him to take something, and I will see Dr. 
 Manning this very afternoon." 
 
 During this conversation Ruth was quietly 
 scrutinizing the countenance of the man, 
 whose arrival she had dreaded, she scarcely 
 knew why. It was a face, once seen, to be 
 always remembered. There was in it the 
 blending of so much evil and good; a 
 strange mingling of the highest and noblest, 
 as well as the lower and more debasing pas- 
 sions of our nature. 
 
 There was something winning and pecul- 
 iarly attractive in his manner when he chose
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 63 
 
 to exert himself. And Ruth did not won- 
 der, as she looked upon him, that his 
 impressive delivery and wonderful powers 
 of oratory had swayed so many hearts, turn- 
 ing their feet from the narrow way to the 
 broad road that leads to death. " Can it be 
 possible that he is an infidel ?" she thought 
 as she gazed upon the broad, expansive brow, 
 which bore the unmistakable impress of the 
 God whose existence he denied. 
 
 She noticed how much the heart of the 
 father was bound up in the frail, delicate 
 child who clung so fondly to him. She 
 knew that that little hand held the key 
 which could unlock the heart which had 
 proved so obdurate and unyielding to the 
 most tender and touching appeals, which the 
 strongest and most convincing arguments 
 had failed to move. And there came into 
 her mind these words, "A little child shall 
 lead them." 
 
 " God's ways are not our ways," she 
 murmured as she watched their retreating 
 forms. "Who knows but what this dear 
 child, who has just begun to know and love 
 him, may turn the father from the error of 
 his ways ? Yet was it not more likely that 
 the father's evil example and precepts would
 
 64 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 destroy the good seed that was springing up 
 in that young heart, planting in its stead 
 those poisonous doctrines which had borne 
 in his own such bitter fruit?" Who could 
 tell ? Time could alone show whether the 
 good would overcome the evil or the evil 
 the good.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 65 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DEACON KICHMOND. 
 
 DEACOST RICHMOND,* the grandfather of 
 Ernest, was a rigid Calvinist. A firm be- 
 liever in the doctrine of " predestination," 
 it was his belief that God had set apart a 
 certain portion of his children to be saved, 
 but had as surely doomed the rest to the 
 torments of a never-ending hell. That he 
 was one of the " elect," a chosen vessel of 
 the Lord from the very hour of his birth, 
 he never entertained the shadow of a doubt. 
 Indeed, he seemed to take a grim satisfac- 
 tion in contrasting what would probably be 
 his future state after death, and that of the 
 great mass of mankind, whom he was con- 
 vinced were on the broad road to destruc- 
 tion, in which he classed all those who 
 deviated in the slightest degree from the 
 rigid rule that he had laid down for his own 
 guidance. Naturally of an austere disposi- 
 tion, religion (if we may call his belief by 
 such a holy name) seemed to have closed 
 * See Frontispiece.
 
 66 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 up every avenue to human love and sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 He married in early life the daughter of a 
 small farmer. She shared in a great meas- 
 ure the peculiar ideas of her husband, while 
 her industrious and economical habits were 
 a source of much congratulation to the wor- 
 thy deacon, who, however interested he 
 might be in a future state of existence, al- 
 ways had his eye on what is termed the 
 " main chance." She made him the fa- 
 ther of a son, whom he called John ; but 
 left the child motherless at the early age of 
 five. 
 
 It was rumored that harmony did not al- 
 ways exist between them; that Mrs. Rich- 
 mond sometimes rebelled against her hus- 
 band's despotic sway. However that might 
 be, after her death he loudly extolled her 
 many household virtues, and took great de- 
 light in holding her up as a pattern to the 
 delicate and fragile being who afterward 
 shared his name and home, we would have 
 added heart, if he had had any to bestow. 
 
 How Deacon Richmond came to choose 
 for his second wife a person so directly the 
 reverse of his first choice was a marvel to 
 many. And how Edith Lee, in her fresh
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 67 
 
 young loveliness, came to unite her fate to 
 that stern man of nearly twice her years, 
 stranger still. Yet so it was. On his 
 |j., i-, it might have been her rare and exceed- 
 ing beauty ; though it is more probable that 
 the large bridal dowry she brought him 
 influenced him more than any other con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Poor Edith ! it was a sad day for her 
 when she crossed the threshold of that dark 
 and cheerless home. Deacon Richmond 
 ruled his household with a rod of iron ; no 
 ray of love softened its cold, rigid discipline. 
 Whenever that slow, solemn step drew near, 
 the smile faded from the lip of the young 
 wife, and the whispered " hush, father is 
 coming !" stilled the sportive mirth of the 
 children, who should have hailed his presence 
 with shouts of delight. - 
 
 At first, Mrs. Richmond strove to alter 
 the cheerless aspect of her new home. She 
 threw back the heavy blinds of the large 
 " square room," which in her predecessor's 
 time was never opened excepting for com- 
 pany, and let in the cheerful sunlight, drap- 
 ing them with snowy muslin curtains, and 
 carefully arranged upon table and mantle 
 some of the rare and costly gifts of the in-
 
 68 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 dulgent father, of whom she was the pet ana 
 idol. 
 
 Passionately fond of flowers, she ventured 
 to place a few plants upon the broad win- 
 dow-seats, and to train a vine over the case- 
 ment. But Deacon Richmond looked frown- 
 ingly upon all these innocent devices to make 
 home pleasant and attractive. They were, 
 to use his own words, not only childish folly, 
 entirely unbecoming in his wife, but a sinful 
 waste of time and money. He could not see 
 God in all his Avorks, nor recognize his fin- 
 ger in the beautiful flewers springing up so 
 lavishly from the green earth, the love of 
 which he has implanted in the human heart 
 to draw it more strongly to him. 
 
 At last, weary and disheartened, Mrs. 
 Richmond ceased from the efforts which 
 served only to bring down upon her head 
 the contempt and anger of her husband, and 
 walked quietly and patiently along the path 
 he had marked out for her. Yet, though 
 she never complained, her health and spirits 
 gradually sank beneath the heavy burdens 
 laid upon them, and in the ninth year ot 
 their marriage she died, leaving two chil- 
 dren, a son and a daughter. 
 
 When Mrs. Richmond began to realize
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 69 
 
 that she must leave her children, the pecul- 
 iar temperament of her son Albert, who, even 
 at that early age, began to evince the strong 
 self-will and fiery temper that distinguished 
 him in after life, and which required a firm, 
 yet gentle hand effectually to repress and 
 subdue, as well as the sensitive and delicate 
 organization of her little Grace, occasioned 
 her extreme solicitude. With many tears 
 she laid them in His arms, in whom none 
 trust in vain, entreating that he would re- 
 member in their behalf his many gracious 
 promises. 
 
 A short time before she died she called 
 Albert to her, and placing the hand of his 
 sister in his, bade him love and watch over 
 her. Young as he was, his mother's pale 
 face and fast glazing eye, and above all, the 
 impressive manner in which she spoke, were 
 never forgotten by him. 
 
 Feeble as Mrs. Richmond had been for 
 many months, and evident as it was to every 
 one else who saw her that she must soon 
 die, her husband did not seem to realize her 
 situation. He had become' so accustomed ta 
 that pale face and feeble step, that when, 
 after an absence of a few days, he returned 
 to his home, and was told that his wife
 
 70 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 was dying, he was so much shocked that for a 
 moment his usual self-possession forsook him. 
 
 She was speechless when he entered the 
 room ; yet she evidently knew him, for 
 when he bent over her she pointed to the 
 children, who stood sobbing by the bedside, 
 and then raised her eyes beseechingly to his. 
 All the mother's love and anguish were 
 blended in that imploring gaze, and it 
 touched the cold heart, and penetrated the 
 dull brain of him to whom it was directed, 
 though he but dimly comprehended its 
 meaning. 
 
 He was surprised that she should feel the 
 slightest hesitancy to leaving their children 
 to his guardianship. So there was a shade 
 of reproach in the tone in which he said, 
 " You surely cannot doubt but what I shall 
 do my duty by the children, Edith ?" 
 
 The dying mother made a strong and suc- 
 cessful effort to speak. " If you have ever 
 loved me, my husband," she faltered, "be 
 gentle with them. Do not be so harsh, so 
 stern as you have been " Here she ceased, 
 ^whether from want of strength, or because 
 she did not like to embitter the parting hour 
 with anything like reproach, it is impossible 
 to say.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 71 
 
 " If I have ever loved her harsh and 
 stern," repeated the deacon, as he sat in the 
 dim twilight, watching the shadows of death 
 settling upon that young face. " What can 
 she mean ? Her mind is wandering." And 
 with this thought he dismissed the uneasy 
 feeling that had entered his heart. 
 
 Ah no ! Edith Richmond's mind was never 
 clearer than when, standing upon the confines 
 of another world, she took her last look of 
 this. It took all the Christian's faith to 
 silence the mother's prophetic fears as she 
 gazed for the last time upon her children, 
 and then upon him to whose guardianship 
 she must leave them. 
 
 Yet as she gazed a sudden light flashed 
 around, and she saw two shining angels 
 standing beside her weeping little ones, their 
 snowy wings half vailing them from her 
 sight. " Their angels do always behold the 
 face of our Father," she murmured, and 
 with a smile of triumph upon her lips she 
 passed away. 
 
 Deacon Richmond slowly arose from his 
 seat, and closing those blue, rayless eyes, 
 said solemnly, "The Lord gave, and the 
 Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name 
 of the Lord."
 
 72 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 O blinded, self-righteous heart ! the Lord 
 indeed gave^ but did he, the mild and merci- 
 ful, lay such heavy burdens upon those 
 slight shoulders? Was it his will, that in 
 payment for all her love she should receive 
 those harsh words and stern looks which, 
 one by on,e, bore her down to the grave, 
 leaving her children so early motherless ? 
 
 How often is it thus. We draw down 
 upon our heads the punishment due to our 
 own reckless folly, and then wonder that tho 
 hand of God should be laid SQ heavily upon 
 us. In our pride and ignorance we fling 
 back the gift to the Giver, or else trample it 
 tinder our feet, and then, when it is past re- 
 call, murmur through our tears, "That the 
 Lord hath taken away."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 73 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE STERN FATHER AND HIS MOTHER- 
 LESS CHILDREN. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after the funeral, Deacon 
 Richmond sent for a maiden sister of his to 
 take charge of his household, resolving in 
 his own mind that he would not take to 
 himself another helpmeet. And though, as 
 time moved on, various were the maidens 
 of an uncertain age, and ambitious widows, 
 who smiled graciously upon him, and who 
 evidently would very gladly become the 
 third Mrs. Richmond, and though many of 
 his brothers in the Church recommended this 
 and that lady " who would make him such 
 a desirable companion, and be such a good 
 mother to his children," the deacon remained 
 firm in his resolution. 
 
 Prudence Richmond was very much like 
 her brother in character and disposition, and 
 carried out to the fullest extent the rigid 
 rule that he had laid down for his household. 
 She made no secret of her dislike of children, 
 though, according to her narrow ideas of 
 duty, she endeavored to fulfill it toward her
 
 74 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 little niece and nephews. She saw that they 
 had their meals in due season, that their hair 
 was smoothly brushed, their faces clean, and 
 their clothes in proper order. 
 
 She was a notable housewife, carrying her 
 ideas of neatness and order to such an extent 
 that they were a source of torture to her- 
 self and everybody around her. Her keen 
 eye could detect dust and disorder where no 
 other eye could perceive it, and woe to the 
 luckless wight who infringed upon the es- 
 tablished order of the house after she had 
 " put things to rights." 
 
 It will be readily perceived that this 
 peculiarity would make the care of children, 
 especially of a boy like Albert, doubly dis- 
 tasteful. For though he was remarkably 
 warm-hearted and generous, he was one of 
 those unfortunate boys who are always tear- 
 ing and soiling their clothes, tracking the 
 clean floor with their muddy boots, and, to 
 use his aunt's expressive language, " turning 
 everything upside down, and making the 
 house a perfect bedlam." 
 
 So she was only too glad to get him out 
 of her sight and hearing, and was not slow 
 in expressing her pleasure whenever he left 
 the house, and her annoyance whenever he
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. To 
 
 entered it. Where he went, or with whom, 
 it mattered little to her so long as he was 
 out of her way. And as for Deacon Rich- 
 mond, so long as he saw the children nt 
 meal-time, and they were in at their usual 
 hour for retiring, and regular in their attend- 
 ance at church, and he was not troubled 
 with any complaints about them, he supposed 
 all was right and looked no further. 
 
 Albert was not slow to take advantage of 
 this liberty, gladly escaping from a home 
 which not only was never made pleasant to 
 him, but where he was subjected to an almost 
 constant checking and fault-finding, under 
 which his proud, impatient spirit chafed, and 
 which he was determined to escape altogether 
 as soon as he was his own master. 
 
 Deacon Richmond was one of those who 
 believe in training up children in the "fear" 
 if not in the " admonition of the Lord," and 
 in its most literal sense, and he carried out 
 his belief to its fullest extent. The terrors 
 of the law, the vengeance of an angry God, 
 the torments of a never-ending hell were 
 held up constantly before them. He never 
 spoke of the loving Saviour, who came to re- 
 deem all who would come unto him, and 
 who wills not that any should be lost ; or if
 
 76 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 he did, it was as the Saviour of a chosen few, 
 chosen from the foundation of the world. 
 He never took them upon his knee, and told 
 them of the babe that was born in a manger, 
 and who, when he came to man's estate, 
 took little children in his arms and blessed 
 them, or simplified to their childish compre- 
 hension the touching story of the cross, tell- 
 ing them of^him who hung thereon, that he 
 might give to them eternal life. 
 
 O no, Deacon Richmond never thought of 
 this. The idea of making religion attractive 
 to his children no more entered into his 
 mind than that it was his duty to make home 
 pleasant to them. He pointed out to them 
 this one sentence, " He that believeth shall 
 be saved, and he that believeth not shall be 
 damned ;" and having done this, he con- 
 ceived that he had done all that could be re- 
 quired of him. 
 
 In common with a great many well-mean- 
 ing people, he committed the sad mistake of 
 often requiring them to commit to memory 
 a certain portion of Scripture in expiation of 
 some offense, or omission of duty, thus asso- 
 ciating the Bible with the idea of punish- 
 ment. 
 
 As for the Sabbath, they looked forward
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 77 
 
 to it with a feeling of dread ; for it never 
 occurred to the deacon that the cessation 
 from all active employment, which to him 
 was, in itself, a source of pleasure, was abso- 
 lute torture to the young active limbs and 
 restless spirits of his children, to whom 
 change and motion were a law of their 
 being. 
 
 They were required at a very early age to 
 attend the public service of God ; the inter- 
 vening time was spent in doors, in as perfect 
 a state of quietude as they could possibly 
 attain. The slightest approach to merri- 
 ment was regarded as a serious oifense. No 
 books were furnished them, with the excep- 
 tion of sermons and a few essays, chiefly of 
 a religious character, utterly devoid of in- 
 terest, and entirely beyond their compre- 
 hension. 
 
 And thus the Bible, which was intended 
 to be the source of pleasure as well as of 
 truth, was but a task book to them ; and the 
 Sabbath, which they should have called " a 
 delight, honorable," was rendered a wea- 
 riness. 
 
 Upon the three children this training had 
 an effect as diverse as their different tem- 
 peraments. John, the elder, strongly resem-
 
 78 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 "bled his father, possessing the same narrow 
 views and cautious temperament, together 
 with the natural shrewdness and grasping 
 disposition which had characterized his 
 mother. Though he possessed neither the 
 kind heart nor the natural abilities which 
 distinguished his half-brother, Albert, he was 
 the favorite son ; looked upon by his father 
 as the one who would be the pride and com- 
 fort of his declining years. Though natu- 
 rally sedate and serious, he was not entirely 
 destitute of the feelings common to his age, 
 and his heart would sometimes rebel at the 
 many restrictions laid upon him; but his 
 natural shrewdness and self-control enabled 
 him to conceal it, and to fall in readily with 
 his father's views and feelings ; so, as he grew 
 older, he obtained a strong and increasing 
 influence over him, which he did not hesitate 
 to use for the advancement of his own 
 interest. 
 
 Grace was the image of her mother, both 
 in form and disposition; though, unfortu- 
 nately, she inherited with her uncommon 
 beauty her frail and delicate organization. 
 Her gentle and yielding disposition enabled 
 her to submit without a murmur to the num- 
 berless and needless restraints which were
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 79 
 
 so irksome to her brothers. Yet these very 
 characteristics made her shrink from the 
 harsh tenets inculcated by her father, and 
 which she could not but perceive had noth- 
 ing to do with the teachings of the meek 
 and merciful. As is often the case, her 
 trustful and childlike spirit guided her aright, 
 for it led her to the cross of Christ. Her 
 thirsty soul drank eagerly the sincere milk 
 of the word, which to receive in its purity 
 we must become as little children. 
 
 And thus it was, while the father was 
 exulting in the son, who by a few set 
 phrases was testifying his faith in the relig- 
 ion of whose reality he knew nothing, and 
 thus taking his first lesson in hypocrisy, 
 there was going on in the heart of the gen- 
 tle daughter by his side, all unknown to 
 him, a work commenced and carried on by 
 His hand whose home is not with the proud 
 and arrogant, but with the meek and lowly 
 of heart. 
 
 Grace shrank from disclosing her feelings 
 to the cold, unsympathizing heart of her 
 father ; and though to her favorite brother, 
 Albert, she would gladly have been more 
 communicative, a natural self-distrust, and 
 the difficulty of expressing in words what
 
 80 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 was so clear to her own heart, made it 
 impossible for him to understand her. And 
 though, in after years, he recollected a few 
 words here and there, which showed him 
 the true state of her mind, they made little 
 impression upon him at the time they were 
 spoken. 
 
 Thus no one knew of the happy change 
 that had come over her, though all remarked 
 how gentle and lovely she grew, how 
 untiring in her efforts to make every one 
 happy around her ; so that her father's voice 
 grew less stern when he spoke to her, and 
 her aunt would often exclaim, "that really 
 Grace was an uncommonly good girl, and 
 did credit to the pains she had taken with 
 her." 
 
 Albert was different from either of the 
 other children. Passionate and self-willed, 
 yet generous and open-hearted, he was a 
 striking contrast to his elder brother. His 
 high spirit disdained the arts through which 
 John won his way to his father's favor, and 
 by which he covered up all that was amiss 
 in his own conduct. His daring and impuls- 
 ive heart betrayed him into many youthful 
 errors and indiscretions, which were treated 
 by his father with a severity entirely dispro-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 81 
 
 portioned to their nature, and which did 
 not serve to make him more amenable to 
 control, or strengthen the bond of affection 
 between them. 
 
 His quick eye detected the difference be- 
 tween his father's profession and practice; 
 that while he was loud in his denunciations 
 against sin, he had little of His spirit whose 
 servant he professed to be. The deacon 
 was too politic to overstep the strict letter 
 of the law ; but he was naturally avaricious, 
 and it was easy to be perceived that he was 
 not always actuated by the spirit of the 
 golden rule. As his means increased, he 
 gave" largely to foreign missions -and other 
 works of public charity, though it was in 
 order that it " might be seen and known of 
 men," while he turned away unrelieved the 
 poor who stood by his door. 
 
 This was not unnoticed by Albert, who, 
 not unlike many others, associated religion 
 with the conduct of its followers. And alas 
 for him, alas for them both, there sprang up 
 in his heart a growing contempt, not for his 
 father only, but for the faith he professed ; 
 forgetful that its Founder had warned us that 
 such things would be, but telling us also 
 " that by their fruits we should know them."
 
 82 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 There never was a great deal of sympathy 
 and affection between the two brothers, and 
 as they grew older the breach widened. 
 John had always been jealous of Albert. 
 His superior personal beauty, and frank and 
 engaging manners, made him, in spite of his 
 numerous faults, a general favorite ; while 
 with none of the glaring errors which were 
 too often observed in his brother, John's 
 selfish disposition, and total absence of all 
 his generous and endearing qualities, made 
 him as equally shunned and avoided, except- 
 ing by a certain portion of the community, 
 who, like his father, were deceived by his 
 affectation of superior sanctity. 
 
 Albert's keen eye saw through the vail of 
 hypocrisy with which John sought to con- 
 ceal his real character. Quick witted and 
 fluent of tongue, he was fond of unmasking 
 him, and ridiculing his pretensions to piety, 
 which he did not fail to perceive were only 
 assumed from, motives of policy. John 
 always felt uncomfortable in his brother's 
 presence, and this fear and jealousy soon 
 ripened into positive hatred. He was well 
 aware that if he could induce his father to 
 disinherit his Jialf-brother, he would in due 
 time come into the possession of nearly the
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 83 
 
 whole of his rapidly increasing wealth. So 
 he was untiring in bis efforts to turn his 
 heart against him, looking eagerly forward 
 to the time when he should be able to grat- 
 ify both his ambition and his jealousy. 
 
 Naturally of a social disposition, and de- 
 barred from all the innocent recreations of 
 youth, it is not strange that Albert plunged 
 into forbidden pleasures ; or with such a 
 dreary, cheerless home, that he sought so- 
 ciety more congenial with his feelings. John 
 was not slow to take advantage of this, duly 
 reporting to his father every act of youthful 
 folly that came to his knowledge, though 
 he did it with a seeming reluctance and 
 affected pity ; which, however, only served 
 to heighten the deacon's indignation against 
 the unhappy young man, whom kindness 
 might have saved, but whom harshness and 
 severity only drove still further from tho 
 right path. 
 
 When he was about nineteen, there came 
 to the town where he resided a noted lectur- 
 er to address the people. He was one of 
 those " new lights " which have risen up of 
 late years, and which have bewildered and 
 led astray so many hearts. He denied the 
 truth of the Bible, and ridiculed the claims 
 6
 
 84 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 of Christianity ; yet his ingenious reasoning 
 and resistless flow of eloquence had turned 
 older and wiser heads than his, whose edu- 
 cation, and the circumstances which sur- 
 rounded him, predisposed to become an easy 
 convert. 
 
 As will be readily believed, Deacon Rich- 
 mond was filled with horror at this open dis- 
 semination of infidelity in their midst, and 
 strictly forbade any of his household at- 
 tending the meetings, which were nightly 
 crowded with curious and attentive listeners. 
 
 This prohibition served only still more to 
 arouse Albert's curiosity to hear, and in an 
 evil hour he went. This rejection of the 
 light of revealed religion, and trusting 
 entirely to the guidance of reason, which 
 were so earnestly advocated by the speaker, 
 was a new and delightful theory, and one 
 which warmly enlisted the feelings of his 
 ardent, enthusiastic heart ; and night after 
 night found him listening with rapt attention 
 to the pernicious doctrines which, clothed in 
 such beautiful language, flowed so melodious- 
 ly from his lips. 
 
 This could never have been done without 
 his father's knowledge, for these meetings 
 held until past his usual hour for retiring,
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 85 
 
 and he never allowed the slightest deviation 
 from the established rules of the house, had 
 it not been for the watchfulness of Grace, 
 who idolized her brother, and whose 
 thoughtfulness had saved him from many a 
 punishment. Many a night did she glide 
 down to the door to let him in, upon hearing 
 the low whistle with which he announced 
 his approach ; quieting her conscience, which 
 sometimes reproached her for deceiving her 
 father, by the reflection, that the indignation 
 and anger that the knowledge of it would 
 call down upon her brother's head would 
 only make him still more reckless, and de- 
 terminedly bent upon having his own way. 
 
 Earnestly and tearfully did she expostulate 
 with him upon the guilt and folly of his course, 
 and the consequences to which it would 
 surely lead; but it was of little avail. Al- 
 bert was tenderly attached to the gentle girl, 
 and the earnestness of her appeal often 
 moved him ; and he would kiss away the 
 tears from her cheek, assuring her that this 
 was positively his last night, that he would 
 not go again. Yet the next night found him 
 there, spell-bound by the seductive eloquence 
 that was rapidly darkening his intellect and 
 perverting his heart.
 
 86 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 But this could not long continue unde- 
 tected. It soon came to John's knowledge, 
 who was always on the look-out for some- 
 thing of which to accuse him, and he lost 
 no time in reporting to his father this open 
 rebellion against his authority. When Dea- 
 con Richmond heard of it, his long sup- 
 pressed wrath burst forth ; and, as is gener- 
 ally the case with those who rarely give way 
 to their feelings, it was terrible in propor- 
 tion to his usual self-control. That a son of 
 his should not only defy his authority, but 
 bring such bitter disgrace upon him, was not 
 to be borne. He immediately sought Al- 
 bert, and in harsh and bitter language up- 
 braided him with his conduct. Stung by 
 his reproaches, Albert threw aside all re- 
 straint, and openly avowed his infidelity, and 
 his determination to submit to no dictation 
 from him. To the charge of profligacy, 
 which his father brought against him, he 
 retorted with that of hypocrisy ; and their 
 brief and stormy interview ended by his fa- 
 ther commanding him to leave the house, 
 and never to cross its threshold until he 
 could come an humble penitent, confessing 
 and forsaking his sins. 
 
 The high-spirited youth did not wait for
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 87 
 
 a second bidding ; but after a hurried inter- 
 view with his sister, who clung weeping to 
 him, he departed. 
 
 He went to New York, which was the 
 home of his maternal grandfather, who 
 warmly welcomed him for the sake of the 
 love he bore his dead mother, who was his 
 favorite child, and soon became strongly 
 attached to him for his own. His grandfa- 
 ther died two years after, leaving him an in- 
 dependent fortune. 
 
 In the mean time Grace Richmond re- 
 mained in the gloom of her cheerless home, 
 if home it could be called. She had seen her 
 brother only once during this interval, and 
 that was at the house of a common friend, 
 soon after the death of their grandfather. 
 During this interview Albert made a strong 
 eifort to induce his sister to leave her father 
 and live with him, assuring her that he 
 would do everything in his poAver to make 
 her happy. But the affectionate, conscien- 
 tious girl could not be persuaded to take a 
 step which she not only felt would be wrong 
 in itself, but which would tend still further 
 to widen the breach between her father and 
 brother, which she was in hopes time would 
 entirely remove.
 
 88 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 She inherited her mother's delicacy of con- 
 stitution ; and a slight cold settling upon her 
 lungs, rapidly developed the germs of the 
 fatal disease of which her mother died. As 
 the disease. progressed, the beauty and real- 
 ity of her religion became more and more 
 manifest. She was so cheerful and patient, 
 growing still more lovely in pewson as she 
 drew nearer to the grave, that those who 
 looked upon her could hardly bring them- 
 selves to believe that she must die. And 
 yet the hollow cough, the hectic flush, the 
 feeble step told but too plainly that the 
 places that knew her now would soon know 
 her no more forever. 
 
 Grace knew that the hand of death was 
 upon her, and a yearning desire sprang up 
 in her heart to behold once more the way- 
 ward but dear brother who had been the 
 object of so many anxious thoughts. Her 
 conscience accused her of unfaithfulness to 
 his best and highest interests, and she longed 
 for an opportunity to convince him of the 
 truth and reality of that blessed faith which 
 had sustained her through so many trials, 
 and which would soon bear her in triumph 
 over the " dark river." 
 
 This desire became so irrepressible that
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 89 
 
 at last she ventured to suggest it to her 
 father, though he had forbidden Albert's 
 name to be mentioned in his presence. But 
 his look, as that once familiar name fell upon 
 his ear, froze the words of entreaty upon her 
 lips. After sternly regarding her in silence 
 for a moment, he arose and left the room ; 
 and Grace never could summon courage to 
 mention the subject to him again.
 
 90 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE MEETING BETWEEN THE FATHER 
 AND SON. 
 
 A FEW weeks after, as Deacon Richmond 
 was seated at the open window, a horse 
 dashed up to the door covered with sweat 
 and foam, and Albert threw himself hurriedly 
 from the saddle and entered the gate. In a 
 few moments the father and son met face 
 to face. 
 
 Albert brushed back the moist hair from 
 his heated forehead, and cast a look of eager 
 inquiry upon his father, who returned it 
 with a cold, scrutinizing gaze, that iron ex- 
 pression settling slowly over every feature, 
 which Albert so well remembered, and which 
 showed him that neither time nor absence had 
 softened his feelings toward him. 
 
 "Father " he commenced. 
 
 But the deacon interrupted him. " Before 
 you call me by that name," he said, " I must 
 know whether you come as the prodigal son, 
 or as the impious, rebellious boy you left 
 me?" 
 
 A scornful smile flitted across the young
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 91 
 
 man's face ; but the remembrance of the sad 
 errand on which he came checked the bitter 
 words that arose to his lips. "I come as 
 neither, Deacon Richmond" he said, with a 
 marked emphasis on the concluding words, 
 "but as a brother, to see my only sister." 
 Then dropping this assumed composure, he 
 added more hurriedly: "I have just heard 
 that Grace is sick, dying. It was cruel to 
 keep me so long in ignorance of her condi- 
 tion. Where is she? Let me see her at 
 once !" 
 
 " To what purpose ?" said the deacon 
 sternly. " That you may poison with your 
 accursed creed the pure spirit so near the 
 portals of heaven? Young man, I know 
 my duty better ! Nothing shall tempt me to 
 place her soul in such mortal peril ! If that 
 is your errand, you may as well go at once, 
 for it is a useless one !" 
 
 For a moment Albert remained silent, 
 anger and grief struggling for the mastery 
 in his heart. " If I am no longer your son," 
 he said at last, " she is none the less my sis- 
 ter; and you cannot, you dare not, separate 
 us at such a time as this !" 
 
 "Dare not?" repeated the old man, his 
 temper rising. " You will find that I dare
 
 92 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 be master in my own house, sir. Leave it at 
 once, or I will find means to compel you." 
 
 Before Albert could reply the door sud 
 denly opened, and Grace glided into the 
 room, looking more like a spirit than an in- 
 habitant of this world, in her loosely flowing 
 robe, which was scarcely whiter than her 
 face. 
 
 For a moment she paused, casting a look 
 of mournful reproach upon her father, and 
 then, with an eager cry of joy, she threw 
 herself into her brother's arms. 
 
 Albert took that slight form up in his 
 arms as though it was an infant's, and then 
 holding her a little way from him looked 
 earnestly into her face. 
 
 He groaned, in the agony of his heart, as 
 he saw Jiow altered it was. " O, Grace," he 
 said, " to come and find you thus !" 
 
 A smile of unearthly loveliness irradiated 
 the young girl's face as, twining her arms 
 around his neck, she nestled close to his 
 heart. " I am happy, very happy," she mur- 
 mured ; " far happier than I have words to 
 express. God is very good to me. He has 
 answered my prayers ; he has granted the 
 desire of my heart, that I might see you be- 
 fore I died."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 93 
 
 "Die ?" repeated Albert, taking in both of 
 his those thin transparent hands. "You 
 must not die, Grace ! I will take you away 
 from this gloomy place. I have money, and 
 money will often purchase health. We will 
 travel. I will take you to some milder cli- 
 mate, where you will grow well and strong 
 again. O could I have done this before, it 
 had not come to this !" 
 
 Grace raised her head from her brother's 
 shoulder. " Albert, my brother," she said 
 solemnly, " I am indeed going, but not with 
 you, though you may come after me if you 
 only will. I am going to a fairer countiy, a 
 better home than any that earth can give. 
 And although you are infinitely dear to me, 
 and have always been so kind, I must tell 
 you that I am going to the arms of a kinder 
 Friend, a dearer Brother than even you. 
 And it was that I might tell you about this 
 friend, who is your friend also, that I wanted 
 to see you. I wanted to ask you if you 
 would not try to meet me in the home to 
 which I am going. I wanted to point out to 
 you the way to that home ; for there is only 
 one way " 
 
 Here she was interrupted by the harsh 
 voice of her father, who, irritated by Albert's
 
 94 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 
 
 endeavors to induce Grace to leave him, now 
 approached his son and laid his hand heavily 
 upon his shoulder. " Young man," he said, 
 "is it not enough that yon have forgotten 
 the duty you owe me, and disgraced my 
 name by your damnable heresy, but you 
 must come here to defy me in my own house, 
 and teach my daughter the same lesson ?" 
 
 " Grace," he said, turning to his daughter, 
 " you are my child, and it is your duty to 
 obey me. Retire to your own room, I com- 
 mand you !" 
 
 " Father," said Grace imploringly, " Al- 
 bert is your son and my brother. If he has 
 erred " 
 
 " If he has erred ?" repeated the deacon, 
 interrupting her. "But I will not argue 
 with you, but insist on your obedience. 
 And now, Grace, listen to me," he added 
 impressively as she still hesitated. " Come 
 with me, and the blessing of your father and 
 your father's God will be yours. Remain 
 with your brother, and you will share not 
 only his disobedience, but the curse that his 
 own conduct has brought down upon his 
 head." 
 
 "This is terrible," murmured the poor 
 girl, as, summoning all her strength, she un-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 95 
 
 clasped her brother's arms and stood np be- 
 fore them. 
 
 " Grace," said her brother, " when our 
 mother was dying she placed your hand in 
 mine, bidding me watch over and care for 
 you. I have come to redeem that promise. 
 Do not leave me ; my claim is more sacred 
 than his." 
 
 Grace looked^upon the old man, who stood 
 before her, with his gray hair and venerable 
 aspect, invested with the sacred authority of 
 a father ; and then upon the brother, so 
 tenderly and well beloved. The fearful 
 struggle going on in that gentle heart was 
 too much for the slender frame. Her cheeks 
 flushed and paled, her breath came quick 
 and gaspingly, and the blue veins upon the 
 clear, transparent forehead stood out,, like 
 cords. Suddenly she placed her hand upon 
 her side, while a sharp cry burst from her 
 lips. The next moment she fell into her 
 brother's arms, the blood gushing from her 
 mouth and nostrils. 
 
 Upon the garments of the horror-struck 
 father, over the hands and bosom of the well- 
 nigh distracted brother, the crimson current 
 flowed, bearing with it the life of the gen- 
 tle-hearted girl.
 
 96 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Before the dawning of another day Grace 
 Richmond died; or rather, she was born 
 into that kingdom the inhabitants of which 
 never die. 
 
 A little while before she breathed her last 
 she unclosed her eyes and fixed them earn- 
 estly upon her brother, who was standing by 
 the bed. Then raising her hand, she pointed 
 to a well-worn volume upon a table at a little 
 distance. When Albert brought it to her 
 she said, " It was our mother's, I give it to 
 you." She tried to say something further, 
 but it was inaudible ; and in a few moments, 
 with not a sigh or struggle, she fell asleep. 
 
 They laid Grace Richmond beside her 
 mother. Side by side the father and son 
 stood, as chief mourners of the gentle girl 
 who had striven so earnestly to bring 
 together those alienated hearts, but whose 
 death had still more imbittered them. 
 
 In accordance with a time-honored cus- 
 tom, the funeral was in the large, old-fash- 
 ioned church in which Albert had sat so 
 many weary hours beside the sister who 
 was now lying dead before him. And 
 when, after seating himself, he raised his 
 eyes to the pulpit, he saw the same vener- 
 able man whom he had so often looked upon
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 97 
 
 with childish awe, and who had stood in 
 that desk over twenty years. 
 
 It had been noised through the town that 
 Deacon Richmond's son had returned, and 
 that the altercation which had ensued between 
 them had shortened his sister's life ; and, as 
 is too often the case, the blame was laid on 
 the party least worthy of it. So curiosity 
 filled the church to overflowing. And when 
 the pastor, in addressing the afflicted father, 
 spoke not only of the bereavement by death, 
 but of a living sorrow, and prayed "that 
 this sad event might be the means of bring- 
 ing back the son that was lost," many eyes 
 turned to the place where Albert Richmond 
 pat. But his eyes did not droop, or his 
 brow blench ; he returned their gaze with a 
 look of haughty defiance. 
 
 Calmly, as though it was something with 
 which he had nothing to do, he watched the 
 ceremony (that in his heart he termed a sense- 
 less mummery) which consigned to the grave 
 the being he loved best on earth. Though he 
 was well-known to most of those present, no 
 one approached him with friendly greeting 
 or word of comfort. There was something 
 in his look that forbade the approach of im- 
 pertinent curiosity, and those who remem-
 
 98 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 bered him as a frank, generous-hearted boy, 
 and who looked upon him with mingled love 
 and pity, were held back by the knowledge 
 of the strange and fearful doctrines that he 
 had avowed, rumors of which had reached 
 them. 
 
 When the last sad office was over, and the 
 people were about to disperse, the venerable 
 pastor approached the spot where Albert 
 stood, with folded arms and gloomy brow, 
 and eyes fixed intently upon the new-made 
 grave. With well-meaning, but injudicious 
 zeal, he addressed a few words of exhorta- 
 tion to him; the purport of which was, 
 " that he hoped that his sister's death would 
 be a warning to him, leading him to repent- 
 ance, and winning him back to the obedience 
 he owed to his father and God." 
 
 This was more than the unhappy young 
 man could bear, and his long suppressed 
 feelings found vent in words. There, stand- 
 ing by his sister's grave, and before the as- 
 sembled crowd, in language terribly impress- 
 ive, he denounced his father as a murderer, 
 reviling in the bitterest terms the religion 
 which had, as he expressed it, " made him 
 motherless and sisterless." 
 
 The look of horror upon the old man's
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 99 
 
 countenance as he heard these words was 
 rapidly communicated to the group around 
 him. " Let him alone," he said, addressing 
 them. " Go not near him, lest you share in 
 his awful guilt. God has given him up to 
 the power of the evil one. He has com- 
 mitted the unpardonable sin. There is no 
 more hope for him." 
 
 Perhaps the reader will share in this feel- 
 ing, and believe that one who could thus 
 speak at such a time as this to be, indeed, 
 past redemption. But praise be to His name 
 who forsakes us not when we forsake him, 
 and who gives us not up when we are given 
 up by all others, he was not past all hope. 
 He who bought us with the price of his own 
 blood willed not that the child of a praying 
 mother, and of a pious, though woefully mis- 
 taken father should be wholly lost. 
 7
 
 100 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. RICHMOND'S UNHAPPY MARRIAGE. 
 
 WE have dwelt at length upon the unwise 
 treatment and false education which turned 
 the gifted and generous-hearted Albert Rich- 
 mond into the dark labyrinth of infidelity, 
 not only that the reader may judge him 
 charitably, but that parents may take warn- 
 ing by the sad lesson. That they may re- 
 member that undue restraint and restriction 
 from the innocent pleasures of youth, by the 
 law of reaction, often leads in after life to the 
 extreme of the wildest profligacy, as does a 
 narrow, unreasoning bigotry to that of the 
 darkest infidelity. , 
 
 Albert Richmond returned to New York. 
 Disowned by his father and brother, the 
 death of his grandfather had left him alone 
 in the world, and, to dissipate the sad and 
 lonely feelings caused by the loss of his sis- 
 ter, he plunged without restraint into all the 
 fashionable follies of the metropolis, not un- 
 contaminated, alas ! by some of its grosser 
 vices. But the dissatisfied and weary feel-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 101 
 
 ing with which he at last turned away, and 
 the reproaches which would sting him in his 
 calmer moments at this criminal misapplica- 
 cation of his time and talents, showed that 
 his was not a nature that could yield itself 
 up to the dominion of vice without a strug- 
 gle, and was one of the strongest proofs of 
 the immortality of the soul, which in his 
 blindness he denied. 
 
 Weary of the life he was leading, and 
 possessing a social and affectionate nature, 
 he determined to have something to love 
 and care for. His ardent, enthusiastic heart 
 pictured a bright and happy home, the pre- 
 siding genius of which was a gentle and 
 lovely woman, in whose love and companion- 
 ship he should find the rest and tranquillity 
 that he had vainly sought for elsewhere. It 
 was in this mood that he met the beautiful 
 Julia Weston. A warm admirer of beauty, 
 he committed the not uncommon mistake of 
 supposing that its possesser united with it 
 every possible virtue, and did not discover 
 his mistake until it was too late to rectify it. 
 
 It was not until after his marriage that he 
 discovered that the being on whom he had 
 lavished the warmest feelings of his heart 
 was but a gilded butterfly, formed to glitter
 
 102 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 in the sunlight of the fashionable world, bnt 
 not to make a happy home. 
 
 His own lavish expenditures, and his 
 wife's extravagant habits, soon dissipated 
 the larger part of his fine fortune. Whether 
 it was this fact, or that some nobler ambition 
 awoke in his bosom, he roused himself from 
 the aimless life he was leading, and collect- 
 ing together the remainder of his property, 
 retired into one of the suburban towns, 
 where he commenced the practice of the law, 
 for which he had studied some years before, 
 and in which the peculiar bent of his mind 
 made him unusually successful. 
 
 He used often to lecture upon his favorite 
 therne, " the light of reason," and the over- 
 throw of what he termed " the dominion of 
 priestcraft." He was also noted for being 
 the author of a number of able articles, con- 
 tributed to kindred periodicals, distinguished 
 alike for their ingenious reasoning, and their 
 bitter hostility to Christianity in all its forms, 
 by which he disseminated his unholy doc- 
 trines far and near. 
 
 Yet neither the sentiments he avowed, or 
 the principles he advocated, .bad as they 
 were, could entirely warp a character natu- 
 rally upright and noble, nor divest it of its
 
 A:ND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 103 
 
 many generous and noble qualities. His 
 conduct in many of the relations of life 
 might have been safely imitated by some 
 professing a far holier faith. He was an in- 
 dulgent husband, a kind father, and a warm 
 friend. With quick and active sympathies, 
 he never turned away from the cry of the 
 poor and needy, but gave them relief with a 
 liberal hand. 
 
 These qualities, together with his fine per- 
 son and affable manners, made him a general 
 favorite, especially among the young and 
 thoughtless, who failed to detect the deadly 
 poison which lurked beneath his honeyed 
 words, but whose effects could be seen upon 
 their lives and characters. Alas for those 
 who thus pervert the glorious gifts of God, 
 turning them against the generous hand who 
 gave them ! 
 
 Mrs. Richmond returned the devoted love 
 lavished upon her by her husband the first 
 few months of their marriage with an indif- 
 ference often more wounding than positive 
 dislike; while her frivolous character, and 
 inattention to his wishes and comfort, gradu- 
 ally weaned his heart from her. 
 
 The feelings which met with so little re- 
 turn in this holiest of all relations, centered
 
 104 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 with engrossing affection upon the three 
 children who were born to him. But God 
 heard his impious resolve, that they should 
 be taught to despise and reject Him who be- 
 came a little child for their sakes, and one 
 by one, just as their infantine smiles and en- 
 dearments were making them so precious in 
 his eyes, they were taken from him. 
 
 Just a year from the day that his last dar- 
 ling was laid in the grave, another child was 
 given him, a son. As he grew in strength 
 and beauty, he bore a strong resemblance to 
 the dear sister whom Mr. Richmond had 
 never forgotten. He had the same clear, 
 transparent skin, deep blue eyes, and golden 
 hair that he so well remembered, and the 
 same sweet, affectionate disposition. 
 
 The unusual intelligence he evinced was 
 the source of much self-congratulation, and 
 he formed many bright anticipations of his 
 career in after life. It was his intention to 
 bring him up in total ignorance of the truths 
 of revealed religion, until, to use his own 
 words, " he arrived at an age to discern be- 
 tween the true and the false. He would 
 then instruct him in the religion of nature 
 and of reason, which was to overthrow all 
 priestly power and superstitious bigotry
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 105 
 
 throughout the world, and bring about the 
 glorious reign of universal freedom, of which 
 he was to become the apostle." 
 
 In order to effect this, he carefully se- 
 cluded him from all books and companion- 
 ship which could possibly give him any idea 
 of religion. In his anxiety to avert this, he 
 employed for his tutor a man whose views 
 corresponded with his own. 
 
 But alas for all his carefully laid plans. 
 Unexpected business called him West. 
 Through unavoidable delay, the absence of 
 weeks lengthened into months, during 
 which time God filled with the light of his 
 truth the heart that he would have doomed 
 to the blindness of unbelief. 
 
 In accordance with the resolution ex- 
 pressed in a foregoing chapter, Mr. Rich- 
 mond consulted Dr. Manning in regard to 
 Ernest, who, after a careful examination, re- 
 lieved his anxiety by the assurance that 
 there was no actual disease, but a general 
 weakness and predisposition to consumption, 
 which with careful and judicious treatment 
 he would probably outgrow. He was not 
 one of those physicians who swell their bills 
 by administering medicine which is useless, 
 if not positively injurious ; so he prescribed
 
 106 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 nothing but a simple diet, regular, though 
 gentle exercise in the open air, and freedom, 
 from all excitement. 
 
 The amount of business which had accu- 
 mulated during Mr. Richmond's absence 
 engrossed so much of his time and attention 
 that he was very little with Ernest, so that 
 it was some days before he discovered that 
 his darling scheme was defeated. 
 
 Since Mr. Richmond's return, from mo- 
 tives of delicacy, Ruth never entered the 
 room set apart for Ernest, though it was 
 hard to resist his entreaties, for he was too 
 young to appreciate her feelings. But in 
 her own apartments, and in the garden, that 
 was common to them both, their intercourse 
 was as unrestrained as ever. She often met 
 Mr. Richmond in the latter place, but his 
 pleasant word and smile of recognition indi- 
 cated that he did not regard her intimacy 
 with Ernest with anything like disapproval, 
 and Ruth began to hope that he was, to say 
 the least, indifferent as to his son's religious 
 views. 
 
 But soon an incident occurred which 
 showed her the fallacy of these hopes, and 
 the strength and bitterness of his preju- 
 dices.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 107 
 
 Anxious that Ernest should have as much 
 out-door exercise as possible, he bought him 
 a little pony, a gentle and docile creature, 
 upon which he used to ride every pleasant 
 day. One morning, as the pony was brought 
 up to the door, Mr. Richmond observed that 
 the beautiful and expensive saddle was very 
 much defaced and injured. Irritated by the 
 carelessness of the groom, he turned to him, 
 and with a fierce oath demanded an expla- 
 nation. 
 
 Ernest was standing upon the steps with 
 his riding- whip in his hand, and his blue vel- 
 vet cap upon his head with its snowy plumes, 
 his eyes sparkling, and his cheeks glowing 
 with the anticipated pleasure, eager to start. 
 
 As his father turned to lift him to the 
 saddle, he could not help observing his 
 altered looks ; the glow of excitement had 
 faded from his face, and there was a grieved 
 and troubled expression upon it. "You 
 must not feel badly about the saddle, Ern- 
 est," he said. "I think that it can be re- 
 paired, if not I will get you another." 
 
 "It is not that, papa," returned Ernest, 
 shrinking away from his father's arms. 
 " But O it sounds so dreadful to hear you 
 swear so !"
 
 108 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 For a moment Mr. Richmond remained 
 silent from astonishment. Then rallying, he 
 said lightly, "It is an ungentlemanly habit 
 I own, Ernest, and I have often tried to 
 break myself of it ; but when once formed it 
 is not so easy. Yet surely there is nothing 
 in what I said to make you tremble and look 
 so pale. They are foolish and empty words 
 which signify nothing." 
 
 "Dear papa," said Ernest, throwing his 
 arms around his father's neck, " do not be 
 angry with me, but to me they seem more 
 wicked than foolish." 
 
 A crimson flush mounted to Mr. Rich- 
 mond's face. " Wicked, Ernest ?" he said. 
 " Who told you that they were wicked ?" 
 
 " The Bible says so, papa," returned Ern- 
 est, in the tone of one who advances an un- 
 answerable argument. 
 
 "What do you know about the Bible, 
 Ernest ? Where have you seen one ? Not 
 in my house, for I harbor no such trash." 
 
 Ernest shrank before the stern glance 
 directed toward him, for a sudden recollec- 
 tion entered his mind of what Thomas 
 Conway had told him, and he remained 
 silent. 
 
 "Answer me, Ernest," repeated his father,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 109 
 
 irritated by this delay. " Where have you 
 seen a Bible ?" 
 
 " The first one I saw was in Miss Sid- 
 ney's room. But afterward she gave me 
 one for my own ; a real pretty one, with gilt 
 leaves, and a red morocco cover," replied 
 Ernest in low and tremulous tones, for the 
 unusual sternness in his father's look and 
 voice frightened him. 
 
 Just at this juncture a gentleman ap- 
 proached Mr. Richmond on urgent business, 
 and consigning Ernest to the care of the 
 groom, he left him.
 
 110 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XHI. 
 
 THE INFIDEL FATHER SILENCED. 
 
 IT was nearly dusk when Mr. Richmond 
 ascended again the steps of his house. His 
 thoughts had been too busily engaged with an 
 important case he was about to defend, for 
 them to revert to the conversation he had 
 had with Ernest in the morning; but as 
 soon as he had leisure to think of it his 
 brow clouded, and a feeling of impatience 
 entered his heart at the oversight of which 
 he had been guilty. 
 
 " How careless I have been," he muttered 
 to himself as he entered the house. " I 
 might have known, from her looks, that Miss 
 Sidney was one of those very good sort of 
 people who would be sure to fill his head 
 with just such notions. But it is too late to 
 think of that now. I must remove him at 
 once from her influence. Ernest is so young, 
 that it is not probable that these ideas are 
 very firmly fixed in his mind." 
 
 It was in no pleasant frame of mind that 
 he seated himself at the supper table ; and as
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. Ill 
 
 Mrs. Richmond had been waiting for him 
 some time, she was in no very amiable humor 
 either, but kept up a series of fretful com- 
 plainings in an under tone, to which her hus- 
 band deigned no reply, but which, never- 
 theless, grated harshly on his nerves. 
 
 "Where is Ernest?" he asked abruptly 
 as, turning to the place where he usually 
 sat, he missed the dear child, who always 
 greeted him with the same happy smile and 
 loving glance. 
 
 "He is in bed, I suppose," was the un- 
 gracious reply. " The poor little fellow 
 waited half an hour beyond his usual bed- 
 time in hopes of seeing you. If you have no 
 regard for my feelings, I should think you 
 would have some for his. I really supposed 
 that you had some affection for Ernest ; I 
 have long since given up the idea that you 
 had any for me." 
 
 ''You have a right to reproach me for 
 my neglect of duty," said her husband sar- 
 castically, " who are such a devoted wife and 
 careful mother. It is business that calls me 
 from home, and not a love for fashion and 
 display, which are contemptible in any one, 
 but doubly so in a woman of your age." 
 
 "Business, indeed," retorted Mrs. Rich-
 
 112 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 mond, tossing her head. " You may dignify 
 by the name of business, if you choose, the 
 clubs, meetings, and lectures at which you 
 spend half your time, but Pm not so easily 
 blinded. If the truth was known, I wonder 
 which of us would be thought to neglect 
 their family the most." 
 
 Mr. Richmond's conscience told him that 
 there was some truth in this, but the con- 
 sciousness of it served only to increase his 
 irritability. "A woman's proper place is 
 home," he said. "And to speak plainly, 
 Julia, I am not at all pleased with the way 
 you have managed during my absence. I 
 left strict injunctions that Ernest was to as- 
 sociate with no one, and it seems that you 
 have given him up entirely to the control of 
 Miss Sidney." 
 
 Mrs. Richmond opened her eyes to their 
 fullest extent. " If you are not the most in- 
 consistent man in the world," she exclaimed. 
 " It was only yesterday that you were speak- 
 ing about Miss Sidney, and her kindness to 
 Ernest, and wishing that I was a little more 
 like her." 
 
 Mr. Richmond colored as he remembered 
 how warmly he had praised her. "I did 
 not know until this morning," he said, "of
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 113 
 
 Miss Sidney's religious tendencies, of which 
 you were well aware. You knew, also, had 
 I known them, that I should have been the 
 last person in the world to have encouraged 
 her intimacy with Ernest." 
 
 "How ridiculous! What possible harm 
 can her religion do the child ? I am sure he 
 behaves a great deal better since he has 
 been with her. I declare, you are the 
 strangest man, Albert, and have such out of 
 the way ideas. I can't imagine for the life 
 of me where you got them. Here I have 
 been imploring you for the last three weeks 
 to buy or hire a pew in Rev. Mr. Day's 
 new church, and you wont hear a word to 
 it. Mr. Day is a splendid preacher. The 
 most fashionable people go there. It does 
 look so heathenish for one to absent one's 
 self from church all the year round in the 
 way that you do. And to bring up Ernest 
 with the same notions too. I do wish that 
 you were a little more like other people, if it 
 was only for the appearance of things." 
 
 "For the appearance of things!" repeated 
 her husband ; " that is all half the women 
 go to church for, and the other half to hear 
 some popular preacher and to display their 
 finery. Go where you please to church, but
 
 114 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 not a cent of my money, not a particle of my 
 influence, shall go to build up a system which 
 has wrought me so much evil ! I am no 
 hypocrite myself, neither do I wish my son 
 to be one. And I desire that you will see 
 that Ernest and Miss Sidney have nothing 
 more to say to each other." 
 
 " I shall do no such thing, Mr. Richmond. 
 If you choose to make a fool of yourself, 
 well and good ; but I wash my hands of the 
 whole affair ! You have the full use of your 
 tongue, I perceive, and can speak to Mar- 
 garet about it. She will do as you tell her, 
 I presume. For my part, I should think 
 you intended to make an idiot of the boy, 
 shutting him up from everybody. I shouldn't 
 be at all surprised if you forbid my speaking 
 to him next, or anybody else, save your own 
 immaculate self." 
 
 Mr. Richmond's lip curled. "Do not 
 fear, madam," he said ; " there is not enough 
 religion in your composition to give me the 
 least uneasiness, I assure you. And even if 
 there was, you are too much a stranger to 
 him to render any precaution necessary." 
 
 When Mr. Richmond arose from the table 
 he went to Ernest's room. As he laid his 
 hand upon the door, he heard the murmur of
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 115 
 
 a soft, childish voice. He opened it, and 
 what a sight was there ! and what a contrast 
 to the stormy scene through which he had 
 just passed ! 
 
 Robed in his snowy night-dress, Ernest 
 was kneeling by the bedside, repeating his 
 evening prayer. The rays of the moon, that 
 was just rising, fell full upon the upturned 
 brow and lifted eyes, revealing distinctly 
 their pure and holy expression. It was a 
 sight upon which angels gaze with holy rap- 
 ture, and which would have thrilled a Chris- 
 tian parent's heart with joy ; but it awoke far 
 different feelings in the breast of the infidel 
 father, who saw in it the frustration of all 
 his carefully laid plans. 
 
 His slippered feet fell so noiselessly upon 
 the soft carpet that Ernest did not notice his 
 approach. "What is the meaning of this 
 nonsense, Ernest ?" he said, laying his hand 
 upon the boy's shoulder. 
 
 Ernest started to his feet and cast a fright- 
 ened look at his father's face. But as soon 
 as he realized who it was its expression, 
 changed to one of love and joy. "I was 
 afraid that I should not see you again to- 
 night, papa," he said as, clinging to him, ho 
 laid his head against his breast. 
 8
 
 116 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 O the magical power of love ! Mr. Rich- 
 mond brushed back the golden curls, and 
 stooping, kissed his forehead. " I was una- 
 voidably detained, my child," he said in a 
 low, musical voice, which was in strong con- 
 trast to his former tone. 
 
 Then taking a seat, he placed Ernest upon 
 his knee. " What were you doing when I 
 came into the room, Ernest?" he said in a 
 serious tone. 
 
 " I was praying, papa." 
 
 "To whom were you praying?" 
 
 " To God," replied the boy, casting a rev- 
 erent look upward. 
 
 " By praying to God, I suppose you mean 
 that you were talking to him ?" 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 " Where is he ? I did not see any one in 
 the room when I came in. We generally 
 suppose the person to be present to whom 
 we are speaking." 
 
 Ernest looked puzzled, and cast a furtive 
 glance into his father's face, to see if he was 
 not jesting. But reassured by his grave 
 countenance, he said timidly, "God is not 
 like us, papa, he is a Spirit. We cannot see 
 him, though he is everywhere present, and 
 can hear all we say and see all we do."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 117 
 
 " Do you think that he hears what we are 
 saying now, Ernest ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it, papa." 
 
 " What makes you so sure of it ?" 
 
 "Because the Bible says that he knows 
 not only all that we say and do, but every 
 thought of our hearts." 
 
 " But, Ernest, other books speak falsely ; 
 why should not the Bible?" 
 
 " Because the Bible is God's word, papa, 
 and God cannot lie." 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked steadily into Ernest's 
 face for a moment without speaking. The 
 clearness and directness of his answers, and 
 the implicitness of his faith, puzzled him. He 
 saw that the religion he had so much 
 dreaded had taken a far stronger hold upon 
 his mind than he had supposed. 
 
 " Don't you think that I am a great deal 
 wiser than you are, Ernest?" he inquired 
 after a pause. 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 "And that I am better able to decide 
 what is right and wrong than you are ?" 
 
 " I know that too, papa." 
 
 "Well, Ernest, I do not believe that the 
 Bible is true, or that there is any such being 
 as the God it tells about."
 
 118 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 For a moment Ernest looked searchingly 
 into his father's eyes, and then hid his face 
 in his bosom. " Thomas Con way told me 
 so," he said, "but I didn't believe it. O 
 papa, I am sorry, so sorry !" 
 
 "What makes you sorry, Ernest?" 
 
 "O because it seems so sad, and you 
 must be so unhappy." 
 
 Mr. Richmond smiled. There was some- 
 thing so artless and affectionate in this that 
 he could not be angry. 
 
 "But, Ernest, don't you think that I am 
 more capable of deciding as to what is true 
 and false than you are ?" 
 
 " Yes, papa, but " 
 
 "But what, Ernest? You need not be 
 afraid to tell me just what you think." 
 
 "I was thinking, papa, of what I read 
 this morning, that God reveals unto babes 
 like me what he hides from the wise and 
 prudent." 
 
 O infant Solomon, wise with the wisdom 
 not of this world, well might you say that ! 
 
 Again was the infidel father, with all his 
 boasted lore, silenced. 
 
 "You are not old enough to understand 
 these things, Ernest," he said at last. "When 
 you have grown to be a man, and are capable
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 119 
 
 of understanding the books that I shall then 
 put into your hands, you will view these 
 things differently." 
 
 " It is not certain that I shall live to be a 
 man, papa." 
 
 " What makes you say that, Emest ?" 
 said his father, an anxious expression flitting 
 across his face. "Don't you feel well to- 
 night? I thought you were growing 
 stronger of late." 
 
 " O I did not mean that, papa," said Ern- 
 est quickly, noticing his father's troubled 
 look. " I am not sick. But a great many 
 little boys die younger than me." 
 
 " I know," said his father gloomily, as his 
 thoughts reverted to the dear children he 
 had followed to the grave. " But you must 
 not think about such things ; it is bad for you. 
 And now good night, my son."
 
 120 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ME. RICHMOND'S CONVERSATION WITH 
 RUTH. 
 
 ERNEST'S gentle, but steadfast persistence 
 in his belief both annoyed and surprised his 
 father ; but he was too politic to show it, 
 and too well acquainted with human nature 
 to attempt to eradicate it by harsh and 
 severe measures. He thought, at first, that 
 he would take his Bible from him, but con- 
 cluded upon reflection to let him retain it for 
 the present, hoping, by substituting other 
 books and amusements, gradually to wean 
 him from the subject, which now so strongly 
 engrossed his mind. He was resolved, how- 
 ever, to separate him entirely from Ruth, 
 and gave strict orders to Margaret that she 
 was on no account to allow him to go into 
 her rooms, or be in her society ; which, as 
 she had long been jealous of Ruth's superior 
 influence over her charge, and the confidence 
 that Mrs. Richmond reposed in her, she 
 lost no time in obeying. 
 
 There was something in the gentle dig- 
 nity of Ruth's manner, the consistency of
 
 Ruth's Disappointment
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 123 
 
 her conduct, its unobtrusiveness, and absence 
 from all attempts at display, that awoke an 
 involuntary feeling of respect in Mr. Rich- 
 mond's heart, and induced him to believe 
 that religion was not with her a mere pre- 
 tense, but a solemn reality. The extreme 
 affection she evinced for Ernest, and her 
 many acts of disinterested kindness, appealed 
 warmly to his generous nature, and he de- 
 termined that he would see her, and by explain- 
 ing his motives convince her that it was no 
 feelings of ill-will that induced him to act 
 thus, but a conscientious regard for the well- 
 being of his child. But it was an unpleasant 
 duty, and some days elapsed before he put 
 it into execution. 
 
 In the mean time Ruth felt sadly the loss 
 of her little friend and companion. At first 
 she feared that he was sick ; but the occa- 
 sional glimpses she obtained of him in the 
 garden, accompanied by Margaret, relieved 
 her anxiety. Once, obeying an uncontroll- 
 able impulse, she went out into the garden 
 to speak to him. But as soon as Margaret 
 observed her approach she drew the evi- 
 dently reluctant child into the house, with a 
 look and .air which convinced Ruth that she 
 acted by a higher authority than her own.
 
 124 EENEST RICHMOND 
 
 She was confirmed in this suspicion the 
 next morning by a conversation between 
 Ernest and Margaret. She heard Ernest's 
 footsteps approaching the door, and then the 
 harsh voice of Margaret calling him back. 
 
 " Let me go in a little while, Margaret," 
 he pleaded ; "I want to see her so much." 
 
 " You wicked, bad boy," exclaimed Mar- 
 garet sharply, "how dare you go near that 
 door after what your papa has told you. 
 Come right away, this instant, or I will tell 
 him the minute he gets home, and then you'll 
 see what you'll get." 
 
 Tears sprang to Ruth's eyes as she 
 listened to the sobs, that grew fainter and 
 fainter as his footsteps receded, but a sense 
 of right as well as propriety forbade her 
 notice or interference. 
 
 That evening, as she sat alone in her room, 
 she heard a gentle tap at the door. Upon 
 opening it, to her surprise she saw Mr. 
 Richmond upon the threshold. She cour- 
 teously invited him to enter. As he did so, 
 seating himself in the chair she placed for 
 him, he cast a quick, scrutinizing glance 
 around the room, whose plain and simple 
 furniture was in striking contrast to the one 
 lie had just quitted, and then his eyes rested
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 125 
 
 searchingly upon the countenance of the 
 young girl, who had resumed her seat by a 
 table covered with books and papers. 
 
 Ruth's cheeks flushed slightly beneath his 
 penetrating gaze, but she returned it with a 
 clear, steady look, evidently waiting for him 
 to make known his errand. 
 
 This he seemed to be in no haste to do, 
 but commenced conversing upon indifferent 
 topics with his customary ease and self- 
 possession, though Ruth could detect be- 
 neath this assumed composure a constraint 
 and embarrassment rather singular in one 
 ^whom no amount of opposition seemed to 
 be able to discomfit or subdue. 
 
 Though outwardly calm, Ruth's thoughts 
 were busy in conjecturing the cause of this 
 unexpected visit. At, last she ventured to 
 break a rather awkward pause by inquiring 
 about Ernest. 
 
 Mr. Richmond's countenance cleared, and 
 he looked relieved. "I think that Ernest 
 appears to be better and stronger of late," 
 he said. " It was on his account, Miss Sid- 
 ney, that I ventured to intrude upon you this 
 evening. You have, doubtless, heard of the 
 peculiar views I entertain upon some sub- 
 jects; that things sacred to you are to me
 
 126 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 not merely harmless superstitions, but serious 
 errors, positively injurious in their influence 
 upon the human race. In short, that I am 
 what the world calls an infidel." 
 
 Here Mr. Richmond paused, as if expect- 
 ing a reply. But Ruth merely inclined her 
 head, and he resumed: "It was my inten- 
 tion to keep Ernest, as far as possible, in igno- 
 rance of the exciting subject of religion, to 
 influence him neither for or against it ; but 
 when he arrived at a suitable age to place 
 it before him in its true light, leaving him to 
 make his own choice. I will not deny but 
 what it would be very gratifying to me if he 
 should, at that time, take the same enlarged 
 views that I have taken, placing himself 
 upon the same broad platform, for I have 
 hoped that he would be one of those brave, 
 true men destined to overthrow the strong- 
 hold of priestly tyranny and superstition, 
 and deliver the millions paralyzed beneath 
 their influence; but I shall not attempt to 
 force his inclinations, for I believe in the 
 liberty of conscience to its fullest extent. 
 With these views, you will not think it 
 strange that I should regret the ideas he 
 has imbibed under your teaching, and which 
 appear to have taken a strong hold upon
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 127 
 
 his mind, and should be desirous of remov- 
 ing him from an influence calculated to 
 strengthen them." 
 
 "I will not affect to misunderstand you, 
 Mr. Richmond," said Ruth gently ; " you 
 refer to my influence over him. And con- 
 sidering the views you entertain, it is not 
 strange that you should have hard feelings 
 toward me. But if you will suffer me to 
 explain, I think I can show you that I have 
 not intentionally interfered in the plans you 
 have formed for the education of your son. 
 When I first saw Ernest I was struck, as 
 most strangers are, by his unusual beauty 
 and intelligence; but it was pity that first 
 drew my heart toward him. You will be 
 surprised, and perhaps offended, at the sup- 
 position that a child of yours should stand 
 in need of that. Yet the first time my at- 
 tention was directed to him, though sur- 
 rounded by the appearance of every outward 
 comfort and luxury, no child of poverty had 
 a stronger claim to it than he : left, sick and 
 suffering, to the care of his Irish nurse, who 
 had abandoned him at the first opportunity. 
 And I will add, that the care I subsequently 
 took of him was with the knowledge and 
 approval of your wife."
 
 128 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Mr. Richmond's face flushed. " I have no 
 doubt but what Mrs. Richmond would sanc- 
 tion any course which would relieve her 
 from any care and responsibility in regard 
 to him," he said bitterly. 
 
 Ruth was too well acquainted with the 
 want of harmony subsisting between this 
 ill-matched couple to feel surprised at this 
 outbreak. She passed it over as though she 
 had not heard it. " It was by the merest 
 accident," she resumed, " that I learned that 
 Ernest was more ignorant of a subject of 
 vital importance than even the children of 
 non-professing Christians. He was of such 
 a, tender age, that at first I did not think of 
 instructing him in more than the first princi- 
 ples of Christianity, simplified to his childish 
 comprehension. But his curiosity, once 
 aroused, was not so easily satisfied. There 
 seemed to be an under current of religious 
 feeling in your son, a natural elevation of 
 soul, which made the attainment of spiritual 
 knowledge easy. Indeed, it seemed more 
 like the recollection of something once 
 known, but forgotten, than the revelation 
 of anything new. What in many seem to be 
 the result of long experience, with him is 
 learned, as it were, by intuition. The fervor
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 129 
 
 of his zeal, and his unquestioning confidence 
 in his divine Master, has often rebuked ray 
 coldness and want of faith. You may cast 
 all the blame on me if you will ; but it is 
 not my work, but the work of One mightier 
 than I, from whom I dare not take the 
 glory." 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked with surprise upon 
 the youthful speaker, whose usual manner 
 was almost cold in its quietude. The cheeks 
 were flushed, the eyes radiant; while the 
 whole countenance showed an earnestness 
 and depth of feeling of which he had not be- 
 lieved her capable. 
 
 " You mistake me, Miss Sidney," he said ; 
 " I have not come to reproach you. I am. 
 confident that all you have said and done 
 has been from the best of motives. I blame 
 myself far more than you. I have been in- 
 excusably careless. I love Ernest as few fa- 
 thers love their children ; with a love that 
 borders on idolatry. He is the sole joy and 
 hope of my heart, and he fully justifies both 
 my pride and my affection, for never was fa- 
 ther blessed with a child of greater promise. 
 Yet, dearly as I love him, I would sooner lay 
 him in his little coffin than know that he 
 would live to become a disciple of the ao-
 
 130 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 cursed creed that has wrought me so much 
 evil !" 
 
 As Mr. Richmond said this his voice, 
 which before had been low and gentle, grew 
 deeper and fuller, his brow contracted, and 
 his dark eyes glowed with the fierce vindic- 
 tiveness which the sudden recollection of 
 his early wrongs and sufferings had called 
 forth. 
 
 " You look shocked, Miss Sidney," he 
 added, in a more quiet tone, as he noticed 
 the pained expression in the clear, truthful 
 eyes that were fixed upon his countenance. 
 " But if you knew my past history you 
 would not be surprised at my feelings. I 
 once had a father, whom I loved as much as 
 his stern nature would permit me ; but for 
 the sake and in the name of his religion he 
 banished me from his heart and home, dis- 
 owned and disinherited me. I had a moth- 
 er, but her life was darkened and shortened 
 by the same gloomy creed that made my 
 childhood, that season of joy and sunshine, 
 so dark and dreary. I had a sister " here, 
 for a moment, his deep voice faltered, and 
 there flitted across his face that expression 
 of unutterable tenderness which visited it so 
 seldom, but when it did had such a trans-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 131 
 
 forming influence upon it. " If there are 
 such things as angels she was one. But she 
 died early, my poor murdered sister ! It 
 was over her grave that I made the vow 
 that thus far has been kept faithfully." 
 
 " They tell me," he resumed after a pause, 
 during which he seemed to be absorbed in 
 gloomy thought, " that I have a brother. 
 I do not know of any such. I never knew 
 him. Yet certain it is, that there is living a 
 man who is my father's son, and who has 
 the most undisputed right to that title. But 
 he has forgotten it, and so will I. It is not 
 fit that I should take his name upon my lips, 
 for is he not a bright and shining light, a 
 pillar of the Church, while I am but a pub- 
 lican and a sinner ? Yet, reprobate as I am, 
 I would not exchange my heart and charac- 
 ter for his !" 
 
 There was something in the expression of 
 Ruth's countenance that arrested Mr. Rich- 
 mond's attention, and checking himself, he 
 said, " You are offended, Miss Sidney. I 
 am forgetting that what has been to me the 
 source of so much suffering, is to you a 
 holy thing." 
 
 " I am not ofiended, Mr. Richmond ; I 
 pity you."
 
 132 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Pity ! For a moment his proud heart re- 
 volted, but the words were spoken so simply 
 and unaffectedly, and there was in the look 
 that accompanied them such an entire ab- 
 sence of scorn or contempt, that the resent- 
 ful words died upon his lips, and he re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 In the mean time Ruth was making a 
 strong effort to overcome the timidity of her 
 reserved nature sufficiently to enable her to 
 give utterance to the thoughts that were 
 struggling for a voice in her heart. At last 
 she spoke, at first slowly and hesitatingly; 
 but as she proceeded she forgot herself in her 
 subject, and the words fell from her lips 
 clearly and distinctly, and with scarce an 
 effort. " It is impossible for me to tell you, 
 Mr. Richmond," she said, "how much it 
 pains me to see a mind and heart so richly' 
 endowed by that Being whose existence 
 you deny, so darkened and misdirected. 
 You have been unfortunate, most unfortu- 
 nate in your early education, and the circum- 
 stances which surrounded you. The wrongs 
 and sufferings you have endured have im- 
 bittered your heart and perverted your 
 judgment. Narrow, sectarian bigotry is not 
 religion. It may be the only religion you
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 133 
 
 have known, but I have not so learned 
 Christ ; neither have any thus learned him 
 who have learned him. aright. The Founder 
 of our religion knew that such things would 
 be. He foretold that many would arise, 
 speaking his precepts, and bearing his name, 
 who had no part with him. But he said 
 also, " by their fruits ye shall know them." 
 " You are right, Miss Sidney, and by this 
 rule have I judged your religion and con- 
 demned it. I once had a friend, one of the 
 most upright and kindest of human beings, 
 who was a father to me when my own father 
 forsook me. A philanthropist in every 
 sense of the word, he possessed the most 
 liberal and enlarged views of any man I 
 ever knew. He had a kind word and a 
 helping hand for every one who needed 
 them. And yet this man was an infidel, an 
 object of scorn and abhorrence to the Chris- 
 tian world. I have known others who set 
 themselves up for guides and teachers to 
 what they are pleased to term a 'lost and 
 ruined world,' whose very looks, as they 
 rest upon those who presume to differ from 
 their belief, seem to say, ' Stand back, for I 
 am holier than thou,' and who use their 
 religion as a doak to the most grasping 
 9
 
 134 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 avariciousness, the most intense selfishness. 
 You have said truly, ' by their fruits ye 
 shall know them.' " 
 
 Ruth felt that there was too much truth 
 in this, and a cloud shadowed her smooth, 
 open brow, and her eyes drooped beneath 
 the triumphant expression of those fixed 
 upon her, but it was but for a moment. She 
 raised her eyes, saying gently, but steadily : 
 
 " True, too true. It is a source of grief to 
 every sincere believer that there are so many 
 who bear the name of Christ who walk not 
 in his footsteps. Those are they who ' cru- 
 cify their Lord afresh, and put him to open 
 shame.' But it does not make his precepts 
 less pure, his example less perfect. You are 
 by profession a lawyer. Would you not con- 
 sider that person most illiberal and unjust who 
 should stigmatize all those engaged in it as 
 dishonest and dishonorable, because the few 
 with whom he happened to come in contact 
 were of that . character ? As there are bad 
 among all nations, all classes, and in every 
 walk of life, so will you find in the Church 
 of Christ blind guides and false teachers. 
 There is only one perfect pattern, but one un- 
 erring guide. Christ indeed said to his disci- 
 ples, * Let your light shine :' but he pointed
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 135 
 
 them to no guide among those with like pas- 
 sions to themselves, but said to them, ' Follow 
 me? There is in the minds of many a great 
 mistake in regard to the effect of the Gospel 
 upon the hearts of those who embrace it, 
 and its promises to them. Christ never 
 promised his followers an exemption from 
 the afflictions of this world, though he did 
 promise that he would sustain them through 
 it all. He does not tell them that he will 
 raise them above the power of temptation, 
 though he does say that he will give them 
 strength to resist it. If we were not so 
 prone to err, so liable to yield to temptation, 
 there would be no need of his forgiving love, 
 his sustaining grace. Not in this world 
 will the purest of his children be free from 
 the liability of yielding to their former easily 
 besetting sins ; though they have the assur- 
 ance that if they sin, there is One who is 
 able and willing to give pardon to the past 
 and hope to the future. 
 
 " There are some persons so unfortunately 
 constituted, their early education and asso- 
 ciations were so unfavorable to the full de- 
 velopment of their moral natures, they have 
 so much to contend with in regard to evil 
 passions and inclinations, that it is difficult
 
 136 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 for them to bring to perfection any of the 
 Christian graces. If sincere, they will work 
 out their own salvation ; the restraining and 
 softening influences of Christianity will make 
 their lives much better than they would 
 otherwise be ; yet their imperfect interpreta- 
 tions of its requirements, their narrow and 
 contracted views of the obligations incum- 
 bent upon them, often make them stumbling- 
 blocks to the weak, a reproach to the cause 
 of Christ, and a sharp sword in the hands 
 of his enemies. 9 
 
 " There are others to whom the attainment 
 of external virtue is so easy, the language of 
 love and charity so natural, that though 
 they reject Christ as their Saviour they un- 
 consciously practice many of his outward 
 virtues, and follow some of his precepts. 
 Like those spoken of in the Scriptures, 
 ' without the law they are a law to them- 
 selves.' The truths of revealed religion are 
 to such what they were to the young man 
 who had kept the Commandments from his 
 youth up, 'the one thing needful,' without 
 which every other gift is vanity." 
 
 There was a time when Mr. Richmond 
 would have smiled at the idea of listening 
 so attentively to the simple-hearted girl
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 137 
 
 before him, who did not possess a tithe of 
 the learning and eloquence of those whose 
 arguments and persuasions he had so many 
 times defied. But there was such an entire 
 forgetfulness of self, so much earnestness of 
 thought and depth of feeling in all that she 
 said, that "an involuntary feeling of reverence 
 filled his heart as he listened, not unmingled 
 with curiosity, at this sudden transformation 
 in the quiet, reserved girl, whom he had 
 hitherto found so difficult to win to anything 
 like an expression of an opinion of her own, 
 that he sometimes doubted whether she had 
 any. 
 
 The few words that Mr. Richmond had 
 let fall in relation to his early trials had 
 aroused the womanly sympathies of Ruth's 
 heart. She had heard rumors of them 
 before, but was not certain in regard to 
 their truth. She felt that it could not be a 
 light thing that had thus warped and imbit- 
 tered a heart naturally so full of generous 
 and noble impulses. She saw beneath the 
 hard crust of infidelity glimpses of so much 
 tenderness, the germs of so many pure and 
 lofty attributes, which, under the genial 
 influences of Christianity, would make him an 
 instrument for the accomplishment of so
 
 138 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 much good, that there arose in her heart a 
 yearning desire to open his eyes to the 
 knowledge of the truth that was irrepressi- 
 ble. And it was with eyes humid and a 
 voice tremulous with feeling that she said : 
 
 " Mr. Richmond, I am but a simple, untaught 
 girl. I may not hope to touch your heart 
 or convince your understanding. There is 
 only One who can do that. Like you, God 
 called, me early to drink the cup of sorrow, 
 causing me to bear the yoke in my youth. 
 But unlike you, these afflictions softened 
 rather than imbittered my heart ; the very 
 isolation to which he has for the most part of 
 my life consigned me drawing me still nearer 
 to him, and causing me to lean upon his arm 
 with a stronger and more confiding trust. 
 O that he would open your darkened eyes, 
 showing you the danger of the course you 
 are pursuing, and saving you from the sor- 
 row that it will too surely bring upon your- 
 self and those dear to you. For O it is a 
 fearful thing to see one made so manifestly 
 in the image of God thus openly defying 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Richmond smiled. There was some- 
 thing in the interest that the young girl 
 evinced for him that was very flattering to
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 139 
 
 his pride. Perhaps he might have miscon- 
 strued it, and imagined that in the compas- 
 sion she expressed for him there was mingled 
 a warmer feeling; for he was not blind to 
 the effect that his fine person, and the singu- 
 lar charm of his manner, had upon the heart 
 of woman. 
 
 Ruth instinctively divined this feeling on 
 his part, for her womanly pride took the 
 alarm, and she added quickly: "I assure 
 you, Mr. Richmond, that I could not fail to 
 have the same feeling toward any one enter- 
 taining the same views with yourself, and 
 capable of exerting the same influence for 
 good or for evil." 
 
 Mr. Richmond smiled again, but it was 
 with a different expression. His quick pen- 
 etration had discovered what was passing in 
 her mind, and there was some pique in the 
 tone in which he said, "I did not flatter my- 
 self that Miss Sidney felt any more interest 
 in me than in any other heathen in her 
 midst." 
 
 Ruth colored, and for a moment she 
 seemed to be at a loss what to say. But her 
 natural ingenuousness came to her aid, and 
 she replied, " You are mistaken, Mr. Rich- 
 mond ; it would be impossible for me not to
 
 140 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 feel a more than usual interest in the father 
 of Ernest." 
 
 Mr. Richmond stood rebuked in the pres- 
 ence of the truthful and loving spirit that 
 dictated these simple words, they were in 
 such contrast to the crooked policy and 
 worldly wisdom by which he had tried to 
 vail the -unworthy thoughts which he now 
 blushed to think that he had entertained. 
 This allusion to his boy also touched his 
 feelings, and he said warmly : " Believe me, 
 Miss Sidney, I fully appreciate your feelings. 
 Upon one subject we differ, and shall prob- 
 ably always continue to differ. But it cannot 
 prevent me from feeling otherwise than grate- 
 ful for the interest you have taken in Ernest, 
 and through him, in me. It gives me pain 
 to break up an intercourse so pleasant to you 
 both ; but I have made up my mind that it 
 must be. Ernest is of a very affectionate 
 and impressible nature, and has become 
 strongly attached to you ; but such feelings 
 in children are evanescent. I have thought 
 of taking him down to the sea-shore, both 
 for the benefit of his health, and to dissipate 
 by a change of scene these morbid fancies ; 
 but my business is such that I cannot very 
 well leave just at this time. I feel quite
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 141 
 
 sure that you will be willing to promise me 
 that you will not attempt to renew your 
 former intercourse with Ernest, so that it 
 will not be necessary." 
 
 The sudden lightening of Ruth's eyes 
 showed something of wounded pride. But 
 it passed away, and she said quietly : " I in- 
 fer from what you say that you have for- 
 bidden him to speak to me ?" 
 
 Mr. Richmond inclined his head. 
 
 "Then you may be very sure that I shall 
 not tempt him to disobey you; that would 
 be directly contrary to the teachings of the 
 religion whose influence over him you so 
 much fear. Your right to decide in regard 
 to your son's education and associates is 
 unquestionable ; I certainly have no right to 
 interfere. Yet beware, lest in asserting your 
 authority you interfere with his who is the 
 Father of his spirit, and who has a so much 
 stronger claim upon him ; incurring the curse 
 pronounced upon those who offend one of 
 Christ's little ones ; preventing their approach 
 to Him who has said, 'Let little children 
 come unto me, and forbid them not.' Be- 
 ware, I say, lest God rise up in his wrath, 
 declaring you to be unworthy of the price- 
 less gem committed to your keeping, and
 
 142 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 make you again childless ! Or worse than 
 that, curse you with the accomplishment of 
 your own wishes ; causing you to lament in 
 dust and ashes the blighted life and perverted 
 heart of the child so dear to you, when it is 
 too late to repair your error." 
 
 Mr. Richmond listened to this with a half 
 smile upon his lip, as to the ravings of fanat- 
 icism. Yet there was a time when, feeling 
 that his "punishment was greater than he 
 could bear," these words came back to him, 
 sounding in his ears like a prophecy ful- 
 filled. 
 
 " She is a strange girl," he said to himself 
 as he wended his way homeward. " I hardly 
 know what to make of her. She combines a 
 strange mixture of intelligence and simplic- 
 ity, of reserve and frankness. There is some- 
 thing about her that reminds me of poor 
 Grace, though she has not a tithe of her rare 
 beauty." 
 
 " She evidently has not a very flattering 
 opinion of me," he added as, entering his 
 dressing-room, he paused before a full-length 
 mirror, taking a view of himself from head 
 to foot, while a half-vexed and half-amused 
 expi-ession passed over his countenance. 
 "She is different from most women I have
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 143 
 
 < 
 
 known, to whom a spice of wickedness in 
 our sex seems to be rather attractive than 
 otherwise." 
 
 In his dreams that night Albert Richmond 
 wandered back to the home of his boyhood. 
 He met again the loving glance of the gentle 
 mother who had left him too early to make 
 a lasting impression upon his heart. He saw 
 again the sister he had so loved and mourned. 
 But their eyes were so beseechingly sorrow- 
 ful that they filled his heart with a vague 
 feeling of pain; and there was strangely 
 mingled with their faces that of the pale, 
 dark-eyed girl whose words had so thrilled 
 his heart. 
 
 But the morning sun dissipated the im- 
 pression they produced upon his mind, and 
 he passed out to his daily business with the 
 calm brow and indifferent manner that was 
 habitual to him, as though no deeper feelings, 
 no holier aspirations had been aroused in his 
 bosom.
 
 144 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ERNEST DISOREYS HIS FATHER. 
 
 SOME days passed. Ruth went to and 
 from her little school with her accustomed 
 regularity. She sometimes caught a glimpse 
 of Ernest, but only at a distance. She care- 
 fully avoided meeting him, knowing that his 
 affectionate heart would prompt him to speak 
 to her, and how hard it would be for her to 
 turn away from him, as she knew she must. 
 
 One day she closed school a little earlier 
 than usual. As she was returning to her 
 rooms she saw Ernest's curly head at one of 
 the nursery windows, but it quickly disap- 
 peared. 
 
 She had hardly laid aside her bonnet when 
 she heard little footsteps approaching, and 
 then the latch was lifted slowly, and Ernest 
 looked cautiously in. Seeing no one but 
 Ruth present he darted forward. " O 
 Ruthy, dear little mother," he exclaimed, 
 kissing not only her face, but her hands 
 and dress, in the exuberance of his joy, " I 
 am so very glad to see you again! I can
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 145 
 
 stay with you a whole hour, for Margaret 
 has gone out, and wont be back till night." 
 
 For a moment Ruth gave herself up to 
 the joy that his presence always gave her. 
 All the latent tenderness of her lonely heart 
 welled up as she felt the clinging of his arms 
 around hei 4 neck, and the soft pressure of 
 his cheek against her own, flooding her 
 countenance with a happy light that seldom 
 visited it. 
 
 But the smile died from her lips as she 
 thought of the heavy cross she must. take 
 up, for to her conscientious mind it seemed 
 to be clearly her duty to send him from her, 
 and to abstain from encouraging him, by 
 word or action, from attempting to see her 
 again. How her heart shrank from this un- 
 gracious task. How could she unclasp those 
 arms, and turn away from the eyes fixed 
 upon her with such an expression of love 
 and joy. And more than all, how was she 
 to explain to that little sensitive heart that 
 it was from no want of love for him that 
 she thus acted ? 
 
 These thoughts, which passed rapidly 
 through her mind, gave an expression of 
 sadness to her countenance, which could not 
 fail to be noticed by the quick-sighted child,
 
 146 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 who looked grieved and troubled. " What 
 makes you look so sorry ?" he said. " Don't 
 you love me, Ruthy?" 
 
 In spite of all her efforts, the tears sprang 
 to Ruth's eyes at these words. " Love you ? 
 O child, never in this world will you know 
 how well !" was her involuntary exclamation 
 as she strained him to her heart. 
 
 " I thought you looked sorry to see me, 
 Ruthy." 
 
 "I am sorry to see you, Ernest, but not 
 because I do not love you. I love my dear 
 boy very much, but I would rather never 
 see him again than have him do wrong." 
 
 As Ruth said this she had regained, in a 
 measure, her usual self-control, and spoke 
 seriously and impressively. 
 
 "Have I done w.rong, little mother?" 
 said Ernest in a low voice. 
 
 "Did your father know of your coming 
 here?" 1 
 
 "What, papa?" he said with a startled 
 look. " I should not want papa to know of 
 it ; he would be very angry." 
 
 "And so you have not only disobeyed 
 your father, but are intending to deceive 
 him, Ernest?" said Ruth with a grave look. 
 
 This was presenting the subject in quite a
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 147 
 
 new light to Ernest, and his little face looked 
 very sober. 
 
 " I did not mean to do wrong, Ruthy." 
 
 "I know that, my child. But you have 
 done wrong ; don't you think so ?" 
 
 For a few moments Ernest remained 
 silent, evidently turning over in his mind a 
 problem that he was unable to solve. " Papa 
 is not a Christian," he said at last, raising 
 his eyes timidly to her face. 
 
 "But he is none the less your father, 
 Ernest, and as such, he has a right to your 
 obedience." 
 
 "But I can't obey papa and do what is 
 right," he persisted. "He don't want me 
 to be a Christian. He don't like to have me 
 pray, or read my Bible, or do any of the 
 things that God has commanded us to do." 
 
 Ruth looked troubled. To reconcile these 
 conflicting duties, so as to render them 
 plain to his childish*comprehension, to warn 
 him against his father's evil example and 
 opinions, and yet not undermine the affection 
 and duty he owed him, was a difficult and 
 trying task. But after a moment's pause, 
 during which her heart was lifted to God 
 for wisdom and guidance, she said : 
 
 " This is a hard thing for a boy like you to
 
 148 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 understand Ernest, but if you will listen to me 
 I will try.to make it clear to you. You know 
 that you have two fathers, Ernest, one in 
 heaven and one upon earth. Now which of 
 them would be most likely to judge most 
 wisely what is for your best good, and 
 which has the strongest claim upon your 
 obedience?" 
 
 As Ruth said this, Ernest's eyes were fixed 
 intently upon her countenance. And as the 
 full meaning of these words flashed upon his 
 mind the perplexed look upon his face gave 
 place to an expression of relief, and .he said 
 slowly and distinctly, "My Father in heaven, 
 Ruthy." 
 
 "You are right, Ernest, for he is the 
 Father of your Spirit, which will never die. 
 He not only gave you every earthly comfort 
 that you possess, but for your sake gave up 
 to a cruel death his well-beloved Son. O my 
 child, earth has no love like that I and well is 
 it worthy of the first affections of your heart. 
 Your heavenly Father has said that you must 
 love him, pray to him, read his holy word, and 
 keep all his holy commandments, and you 
 must not disobey him even to please your best 
 earthly friend. But you must not disobey 
 your father merely to please yawrsdf. You
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 149 
 
 must obey him in everything that is not 
 contrary to the word of God. Do you 
 understand me, Ernest ?" 
 
 " Yes, little mother, I always understand 
 everything that you tell me. But somehow, 
 I can't do right all by myself. I have no 
 chance to pray alone, and when Margaret 
 sees me she always laughs and makes fun. 
 I know that papa don't like to have me read 
 the Bible, or talk about it, or about God; 
 and when I forget and speak before I think, 
 as I sometimes do, he looks so grave and 
 sober that it frightens me." 
 
 "I know that these things are hard, 
 Ernest. But this is the cross that God has 
 given you. Can you not bear it fo"r his sake, 
 who bore such a heavy one for you up the 
 hill of Calvary?" 
 
 Ernest raised his head from Rule's knee, 
 his cheeks flushed, and his eyes grew bright. 
 " Little mother," he exclaimed, " when you 
 talk so I feel as if I could do anything for 
 his sake! That I could even be burned at 
 the stake like those martyrs you told me 
 about. But when the time comes," he 
 added, dropping his head again wearily 
 upon her knee, "I find that I cannot bear 
 the littlest thing." 
 
 10
 
 150 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " That is the case with older and more ex- 
 perienced Christians than you, Ernest. But 
 He that knoweth our frame pities us, re- 
 membering that we are but dust." 
 
 " There is one thing that you must not 
 forget, Ernest," continued Ruth. " Your fa- 
 ther loves you dearly, he is very kind to 
 you, and though sadly mistaken, has your 
 good in view in all that he does. Supposing 
 you thought as he does, that there is no God, 
 no Saviour, no heaven, that this is all the life 
 we are to live, would it not make you very 
 unhappy ?" 
 
 Ernest drew a deep sigh. " It would be 
 dreadful, Ruthy," he said. " I know that 
 papa don't believe in God or in the Bible, 
 for he told me so, and it made me so sorry, 
 you can't think. I tried to make him think 
 different one day, but he only laughed, and 
 asked me so many queer questions that I 
 didn't know what to say. Papa is a man, 
 and I am nothing but a little boy ; he wont 
 listen to what I say to him." 
 
 " My child, there is a difference between 
 the wisdom of this world, and that which 
 makes us wise toward God. In regard to 
 many things, your father is far wiser than 
 you or I ; yet his spiritual eyes are darkened ;
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 151 
 
 and it is only God that can open them to the 
 knowledge of himself and his truth. But 
 God sometimes chooses small and feeble 
 hands, Ernest, to do his most mighty woi'ks. 
 And O would it not be a happy thing, my 
 dear boy," said Ruth, taking one of his 
 hands in hers and pressing it to her lips, "if 
 this little one of yours could lead that dear 
 father to the cross of Christ ?" 
 
 Ernest's eyes kindled, and his slender form 
 dilated with thoughts and feelings too big 
 for -utterance. " Little mother," he said fer- 
 vently, " it seems to me now, that to do this 
 I would gladly die ! I love papa so dearly, 
 and it makes my heart ache so to think that 
 he is not a Christian. But how can I do it, 
 Ruthy ?" 
 
 " I will tell you how, my child. Not by 
 talking, for you are not wise enough to know 
 always the right thing to say ; and even if you 
 were, it would riot be becoming in one of 
 your years to try to teach any one so much 
 older than yourself. There is only one way, 
 and that is by living the Christian's life. 
 By never denying your Master in anything 
 that you say or do, and yet trying to please 
 your father in everything that is not contrary 
 to his teachings. Will you do this, Ernest ?"
 
 152 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " I will try, Ruthy." 
 
 " If you really try, Ernest, and ask God to 
 help you, you will succeed. And now I 
 have only one thing more to say to you. 
 You know that I have often told you how 
 dear you were to me, how tenderly I loved 
 you, and I have proved my love for you in 
 many ways. Now supposing that I should 
 meet you, and should not speak, or even look 
 at you, but should pass along as though I 
 had not seen you, would you. still think that 
 I loved you, Ernest ?" 
 
 For a moment Ernest looked puzzled, and 
 then his countenance lightened, and he said 
 quickly, "I should understand, and know 
 that you loved me, Ruthy, just as I love you, 
 now, and for always." 
 
 Ruth could not resist the impulse which 
 made her draw him to her bosom. " If you 
 love me keep my commandments," she said, 
 as she pressed her lips upon his forehead. 
 
 For a moment she held him thus, with a 
 yearning tenderness in her heart that was 
 irrepressible. And then she put him from 
 her, and rising from'her seat said, " Now you 
 must go, Ernest." 
 
 Ernest moved a few steps toward the 
 door, and then turning, fixed his eyes full
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 153 
 
 upon her. " Shall I never see you again, 
 little mother?" he said. 
 
 There was a momentary struggle in Ruth's 
 heart to retain her composure, and then she 
 said cheerfully, "We -are both traveling to- 
 ward our Father's home, Ernest, drawing 
 nearer every day. When I reach that happy 
 place I shall expect to see Ernest there, or 
 that he will be coming after. Which of us 
 gets there first will wait for the other. 
 Shall it not be so, my dear boy ?" 
 
 " I know that we shall meet there," he 
 replied in a tone of calm certainty. " But 
 shall I never see you again in this world, 
 Ruthy ?" 
 
 "That must be -as God wills, Ernest. 
 When you grow to be a man, a good 
 Christian man, as I am 'sure you will be, 
 I trust that I shall either see or hear from 
 you." 
 
 Ernest looked down thoughtfully upon the 
 hands, so thin and slender, and said, " I 
 don't know, little mother, but I sometimes 
 think that I shall not live to be a man." 
 
 There was something so singular in this 
 remark that Ruth looked searchingly into 
 the face of the speaker, to see if there were 
 any grounds for this fear.
 
 148 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 understand Ernest, but if you will listen to me 
 I will try^to make it clear to you. You know 
 that you have two fathers, Ernest, one in 
 heaven and one upon earth. Now which of 
 them would be most likely to judge most 
 wisely what is for your best good, and 
 which has the strongest claim upon your 
 obedience?" 
 
 As Ruth said this, Ernest's eyes were fixed 
 intently upon her countenance. And as the 
 full meaning of these words flashed upon his 
 mind the perplexed look upon his face gave 
 place to an expression of relief, and .he said 
 slowly and distinctly, "My Father in heaven, 
 Euthy." 
 
 "You are right, Ernest, for he is the 
 Father of your Spirit, which will never die. 
 He not only gave you every earthly comfort 
 that you possess, but for your sake gave up 
 to a cruel death his well-beloved Son. O my 
 child, earth has no love like that \. and well is 
 it worthy of the first affections of your heart. 
 Your heavenly Father has said that you must 
 love him, pray to him, read his holy word, and 
 keep all his holy commandments, and you 
 must not disobey him even to please your best 
 earthly friend. But you must not disobey 
 your father merely to please ycywrsdf. You
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 149 
 
 must obey him in everything that is not 
 contrary to the word of God. Do you 
 understand me, Ernest ?" 
 
 " Yes, little mother, I always understand 
 everything that you tell me. But somehow, 
 I can't do right all by myself. I have no 
 chance to pray alone, and when Margaret 
 sees me she always laughs and makes fun. 
 I know that papa don't like to have me read 
 the Bible, or talk about it, or about God ; 
 and when I forget and speak before I think, 
 as I sometimes do, he looks so grave and 
 sober that it frightens me." 
 
 "I know that these things are hard, 
 Ernest. But this is the cross that God has 
 given you. Can you not bear it fo"r his sake, 
 who bore such a heavy one for you up the 
 hill of Calvary ?" 
 
 Ernest raised his head from Ruljh's knee, 
 his cheeks flushed, and his eyes grew bright. 
 " Little mother," he exclaimed, " when you 
 talk so I feel as if I could do anything for 
 his sake! That I could even be burned at 
 the stake like those martyrs you told me 
 about. But when the time comes," he 
 added, dropping his head again wearily 
 upon her knee, " I find that I cannot bear 
 the littlest thing." 
 
 10
 
 150 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " That is the case with older and more ex- 
 perienced Christians than you, Ernest. But 
 He that knoweth our frame pities us, re- 
 membering that we are but dust." 
 
 " There is one thing that you must not 
 forget, Ernest," continued Ruth. " Your fa- 
 ther loves you dearly, he is very kind to 
 you, and though sadly mistaken, has your 
 good in view in all that he does. Supposing 
 you thought as he does, that there is no God, 
 no Saviour, no heaven, that this is all the life 
 we are to live, would it not make you very 
 unhappy ?" 
 
 Ernest drew a deep sigh. " It would be 
 dreadful, Ruthy," he said. " I know that 
 papa don't believe in God or in the Bible, 
 for he told me so, and it made me so sorry, 
 you can't think. I tried to make him think 
 different one day, but he only laughed, and 
 asked me so many queer questions that I 
 didn't know what to say. Papa is a man, 
 and I am nothing but a little boy ; he wont 
 listen to what I say to him." 
 
 " My child, there is a difference between 
 the wisdom of this world, and that which 
 makes us wise toward God. In regard to 
 many things, your father is far wiser than 
 you or I ; yet his spiritual eyes are darkened ;
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 151 
 
 and it is only God that can open them to the 
 knowledge of himself and his truth. But 
 God sometimes chooses small and feeble 
 hands, Ernest, to do his most mighty works. 
 And O would it not be a happy thing, my 
 dear boy," said Ruth, taking one of his 
 hands in hers and pressing it to her lips, "if 
 this little one of yours could lead that dear 
 father to the cross of Christ ?" 
 
 Ernest's eyes kindled, and his slender form 
 dilated Avith thoughts and feelings too big 
 for -utterance. " Little mother," he said fer- 
 vently, " it seems to me now, that to do this 
 I would gladly die ! I love papa so dearly, 
 and it makes my heart ache so to think that 
 he is not a Christian. But how can I do it, 
 Ruthy ?" 
 
 " I will tell you how, my child. Not by 
 talking, for you are not wise enough to know 
 always the right thing to say ; and even if you 
 were, it would riot be becoming in one of 
 your years to try to teach any one so much 
 older than yourself. There is only one way, 
 and that is by living the Christian's life. 
 By never denying your Master in anything 
 that you say or do, and yet trying to please 
 your father in everything that is not contrary 
 to his teachings. Will you do this, Ernest ?"
 
 152 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " I will try, Ruthy." 
 
 " If you really try, Ernest, and ask God to 
 help you, you will succeed. And now I 
 have only one thing more to say to you. 
 You know that I have often told you how 
 dear you were to me, how tenderly I loved 
 you, and I have proved my love for you in 
 many ways. Now supposing that I should 
 meet you, and should not speak, or even look 
 at you, but should pass along as though I 
 had not seen you, would you. still think that 
 I loved you, Ernest ?" 
 
 For a moment Ernest looked puzzled, and 
 then his countenance lightened, and he said 
 quickly, " I should understand, and know 
 that you loved me, Ruthy, just as I love you, 
 now, and for always." 
 
 Ruth could not resist the impulse which 
 made her draw him to her bosom. " If you 
 love me keep my commandments," she said, 
 as she pressed her lips upon his forehead. 
 
 For a moment she held him thus, with a 
 yearning tenderness in her heart that was 
 irrepressible. And then she put him from 
 her, and rising from" her seat said, " Now you 
 must go, Ernest." 
 
 Ernest moved a few steps toward the 
 door, and then turning, fixed his eyes full
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEK. 153 
 
 upon her. " Shall I never see you again, 
 little mother?" he said. 
 
 There was a momentary struggle in Ruth's 
 heart to retain her composure, and then she 
 said cheerfully, "We -are both traveling to- 
 ward our Father's home, Ernest, drawing 
 nearer every day. When I reach that happy 
 place I shall expect to see Ernest there, or 
 that he will be coining after. Which of us 
 gets there first will wait for the other. 
 Shall it not be so, my dear boy ?" 
 
 " I know that we shall meet there," he 
 replied in a tone of calm certainty. " But 
 shall I never see you again in this world, 
 Ruthy ?" 
 
 "That must be -as God wills, Ernest. 
 When you grow to be a man, a good 
 Christian man, as I am' sure you will be, 
 I trust that I shall either see or hear from 
 you." 
 
 Ernest looked down thoughtfully upon the 
 hands, so thin and slender, and said, " I 
 don't know, little mother, but I sometimes 
 think that I shall not live to be a man." 
 
 There was something so singular in this 
 remark that Ruth looked searchingly into 
 the face of the speaker, to see if there were 
 any grounds for this fear.
 
 154 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 To the careless observer, he seemed to be 
 the picture of perfect health ; but Ruth's eye 
 looked deeper. The cheeks were crimson, 
 but it was the flush of excitement, making 
 still more apparent the exquisite delicacy of 
 his skin ; the eyes were bright, but it was 
 an unnatural luster, which spoke of another 
 and a fairer country. For a moment a cold 
 hand seemed to be laid upon her heart, and 
 then came the thought that perhaps it would 
 be better thus, and she said, smiling, "Then 
 Ernest will get home before me." 
 
 There was a brief pause, which Ruth broke 
 by saying, " Do you remember what Christ 
 said to his disciples ? ' Ye are my friends, 
 if ye do whatsoever I command you.' When 
 sick and sorrowful remember these words, 
 Ernest ; for it is a blessed thing, dear child, 
 to be counted worthy to suifer for him. And 
 they who are the friends of Christ, though 
 they may be forsaken by all others, can never 
 be alone or friendless." 
 
 As Ruth said this her eyes rested upon 
 the countenance of Ernest; but Ms were di- 
 rected upward, a tranquil and holy expression 
 taking the place of their formerly grieved 
 and troubled look. 
 
 They were so much absorbed by their own
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 155 
 
 thoughts and feelings, that they did not 
 notice the approach of a heavy step until the 
 door was thrown open, and Mr. Richmond 
 stood before them. 
 
 Ruth had seen Mr. Richmond only in his 
 most genial moods, when he acted the part 
 of the kind friend and the courteous gentle- 
 man. She saw now how he could look 
 when he was angry. Though it was evident 
 that a fierce storm was raging in his bosom, 
 there was no flash in the eye, or curl to the 
 lip; but in their stead a stern look, which 
 showed that he was keeping his anger down 
 with a firm, steady hand, and which was more 
 impressive than the fiercest demonstration. 
 
 He darted a displeased look at Ernest. 
 *' Is this the way that you obey me ?" he 
 said. " Come here to me !" 
 
 The poor boy was so frightened at his 
 father's look and tone that he made no mo- 
 tion to obey, but turning, clung to Ruth. 
 
 Ruth disengaged his hand from her dress, 
 saying, " Go to your father, Ernest." 
 
 The evident reluctance of Ernest to go to 
 him still more incensed his father, and turn- 
 ing to Ruth, with a look of scorn and sup- 
 pressed anger, he said, " You have well kept 
 your promise, Miss Sidney."
 
 156 EKNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Very gladly would Ruth have offered 
 some explanation, but he would not listen to 
 her. He strode across the room, and taking 
 hold of Ernest's hand, led him quickly from 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Richmond did not speak to Ernest 
 until he reached the door of his own room. 
 Then, letting go of his hand, he said sternly, 
 " You have been a bad boy, Ernest, a very 
 bad boy, and I am seriously displeased with 
 you." 
 
 Ernest burst into tears. " Papa " he said, 
 as soon as he could speak. 
 
 But his father interrupted him. "Not 
 another word, sir; there is no excuse for 
 your conduct. Go directly to. your room, 
 and stay there until I send for you." 
 
 Ernest obeyed. And Mr. Richmond en- 
 tered the library, with a dissatisfied and 
 gloomy expression upon his countenance; 
 and taking up the evening paper, vainly en- 
 deavored to interest himself in its contents. 
 
 " With all her smooth, artless ways, she is 
 a hypocrite, just like the rest of them," he 
 muttered. And throwing down his paper, 
 he commenced walking up and down the 
 room with a quick, restless step. 
 
 " Master Ernest wants to know if he can
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 157 
 
 speak with you before he goes to bed ?" 
 said Margaret, opening the door. 
 
 " No ; tell him that I cannot see him to- 
 night." 
 
 And again the door closed, leaving him to 
 his gloomy reflections.
 
 158 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. RICHMOND TAKES ERNEST TO THE 
 SEA-SHORE. 
 
 " Is Master Ernest to stay in his room to- 
 day ?" inquired Margaret the next morning, 
 just as Mr. Richmond was rising from the 
 breakfast-table. 
 
 " Certainly not, unless he chooses." 
 
 " He says that you told him to stay there 
 until you sent for him." 
 
 " So I did. I had forgotten it. You may 
 tell him, Margaret, that he may come down 
 stairs as usual, but that I do not wish him 
 to leave the house." 
 
 Mrs. Richmond was present during this 
 conversation, and glad of an opportunity to 
 vent her ill-humor at some trifling disap- 
 pointment the night previous, she exclaimed, 
 as soon as Margaret had left the room, 
 
 " I should really like to know, Mr. Rich- 
 mond, if you have kept the poor child with- 
 out his breakfast until this late hour? And 
 Margaret tells me that he eat no supper. I 
 shouldn't be surprised if he was sick a week. 
 And all this fss because he went into Miss
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 159 
 
 Sidney's a few minutes. I declare, if you 
 are not enough to drive any reasonable 
 woman distracted. I can't imagine what 
 harm you think the girl will do him. I am 
 sure she has taken a great deal of care of 
 him, and I never felt so easy about him as 
 when they were together." 
 
 "If you were anything like the mother 
 you ought to be, Julia,"- retorted her hus- 
 band sternly, " you would not be so willing to 
 give up your child to the care of strangers." 
 
 Then, desirous of escaping the storm of 
 words, which he knew was coming, Mr. 
 Richmond left the room before his wife had 
 time to reply. 
 
 He proceeded to the library. While he 
 was busily engaged in looking over the 
 morning mail he heard a gentle tap at the 
 door. " Who is it ?" he inquired. 
 
 " It is me, papa," said a small, tremulous 
 voice. " May I come in ?" 
 
 "Yes," was his father's brief rejoinder, 
 though he did not raise his eyes as he en- 
 tered. 
 
 For a few moments Ernest stood silently 
 by his father's knee, as if expecting him to 
 speak, But finding that he took no notice 
 of him, he said timidly, " Papa."
 
 160 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 The pale, sober face that met Mr. Rich- 
 mond's eyes as he raised them sent a com- 
 punctious thrill of tenderness to his heart. 
 "Poor child!" he said to himself. "Yet 
 he certainly has behaved very badly, and 
 must be taught that he cannot trifle with my 
 authority." So he said coldly, " Well, what 
 is it, Ernest ?" 
 
 "Dear papa, are you very angry with 
 me?" 
 
 "You disobeyed me, Ernest," said his 
 father, his voice and countenance softening 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 "I know it, papa; but I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 At these words every trace of anger died 
 in the father's heart, and taking him upon 
 his knee he kissed him. " What made you 
 do so, my son ?" he said, as Ernest laid his 
 head against his shoulder. 
 
 " I don't know, papa. I didn't think that 
 it was anything so very bad at first." 
 
 Ernest lay for some minutes in his father's 
 arms without speaking, but his thoughts 
 were evidently busy. At last he said, " Papa, 
 I want to ask you a question." 
 
 "Well, my sou, you certainly cannot be 
 afraid to ask me."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 161 
 
 " Was you really angry with Ruthy last 
 night?" 
 
 "With Miss Sidney? Certainly I was, 
 Ernest. She knew that I had forbidden you 
 to go to her rooms, and it was very 
 wrong for her to encourage you to disobey 
 me." 
 
 " But she didn't, papa," exclaimed the boy 
 eagerly, raising his head from his father's 
 shoulder. " She told me how wrong it was, 
 and was just sending me away when you 
 came in." 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked both surprised and 
 pleased. "I am very glad to hear it," he 
 said. " And now, Ernest, I would not think 
 or talk any more about it. I want to speak 
 to you of something else. You remember 
 that beautiful place down upon the sea- 
 shore, where we went last summer. I am 
 going down there to-morrow ; wouldn't you 
 like to go with me ?" 
 
 Ernest looked steadily into his father's 
 eyes, with that clear, far-reaching gaze, 
 which showed plainly that he had pene- 
 trated into his motives for taking this sud- 
 den step, and then said, "I am willing to 
 go, papa." 
 
 " Would you not like to go, Ernest ?"
 
 162 EENEST RICHMOND 
 
 "Yes, if you would like to have me; 
 though I don't care a great deal about 
 going." 
 
 " You will like it after you get there. A 
 lady lives near by who has a little boy just 
 about your age, and you and he will have a 
 fine time together. And now you may go 
 and tell Margaret that I wish to speak to 
 her." 
 
 After giving Margaret some directions in 
 regard to Ernest's clothing, and bidding her 
 be in readiness at an early hour in the morn- 
 ing, Mr. Richmond sought his wife's room, 
 with the intention of acquainting her with 
 his determination. 
 
 He dreaded the scene which he knew 
 would follow; for, though Mrs. Richmond 
 had been importuning her husband for some 
 weeks past to take her to some fashionable 
 watering-place, he knew the one he had 
 selected was too quiet and secluded to suit 
 her taste. 
 
 She exhausted every argument at her com- 
 mand to induce him to change his resolution. 
 " Not that I wonder at your wanting to take 
 him to the sea-shore," she said, "for his 
 health certainly requires it. And so does 
 mine, for that matter ; though it is little you
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 163 
 
 care for that! But why choose such an 
 outlandish place? Why not go to New- 
 port?" 
 
 "I do not like to take Ernest to a place 
 so crowded. Besides, I cannot go so far from 
 my business. It is useless to argue the point ; 
 I have made up my mind fully, and you have 
 only to decide whether you will accompany 
 us, or remain at home." 
 
 " Perhaps I may not do either." 
 
 " What do you propose doing ?" 
 
 " The Arlingtons are going to Newport." 
 
 " Well, I have no objection." 
 
 " But they have invited me to go with 
 them, and I really do not see how I can re- 
 fuse." 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked at his wife, to make 
 sure that he understood her, and said dryly : 
 
 " I should suppose that your husband and 
 child had the strongest claim upon you ; that 
 the feelings of a mother would prompt you 
 to decide which of these invitations you 
 ought to accept, mine, or theirs." 
 
 The reproach that these words conveyed 
 was not lost upon Mrs. Richmond; but it only 
 increased her ill-humor, and she retorted: 
 
 " I don't see how you can harbor for one 
 moment the preposterous idea that I would
 
 170 EKNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ERNEST AND HIS NEW GOVERNESS. 
 
 "You will not find your duties very irk- 
 some," said Mr. Richmond at the close of a 
 long and serious conversation with Madame 
 Dupont the morning after her arrival. 
 "Ernest is remarkably gentle and docile, 
 and with the exception of the new ideas he 
 has imbibed of late, of which I have told 
 you, has never made me the least trouble. 
 Yet he is, in some respects, a rather singular 
 child, very strong in his likes and dislikes. 
 While for Miss Sidney, the young girl of 
 whom I have been telling you, he manifests 
 an afiection unusual in one of his age, for his 
 tutor, Mr. Grey, who for aught I could see 
 was equally as kind to him, he never evinced 
 the slightest fondness, seeming to be rather 
 relieved than otherwise when he left us." 
 
 "I have occasionally invited two boys 
 near his own age to visit him, the sons of a 
 friend whose views are the same as mine, 
 thinking that he must be lonely, and desirous 
 of making him behave a little more like
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 171 
 
 other children. Yet, though always attent- 
 ive and pleasant to them, lending them his 
 books and playthings, and doing all in his 
 power to render their visit agreeable, he never 
 seemed to enjoy their society, nor would he 
 mingle in their plays, except at my express 
 command. Whereas there was Thomas 
 Conway, the son of a drunkard, and as rag- 
 ged and dirty as such children generally are, 
 from whom it is almost impossible to keep 
 him away. 
 
 " You will readily suppose that the strange 
 turn his mind has taken lately cannot but be 
 a source of annoyance to me. I am con- 
 vinced that you can be of essential service to 
 me in my efforts to remove these impressions. 
 The state of his health will not admit of 
 those harsher measures which might be 
 safely employed with children of a stronger 
 constitution, neither do I believe they will 
 be necessary. All that you will have to do 
 is to win his love and confidence ; the rest will 
 be easy. I have always noticed, where he 
 does love, that his confidence is unbounded. 
 I should like to have you be with him as 
 much as you can, and do your best to break 
 up the morbid fancies in which he indulges, 
 and interest him in other things ; inducing
 
 172 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 him, if possible, to relinquish the superstitious 
 habits he has contracted, and which are dis- 
 pleasing to me." 
 
 "I will endeavor to folloAV your directions," 
 said Madame in her gentlest tone. " Though 
 with the best that I can do, I shall never be 
 able to repay the debt of gratitude I owe 
 you." 
 
 "Xot another word, my dear Madame," 
 said Mr. Richmond, rising and touching the 
 bell. " I assure you that the obligation is 
 entirely on my side." 
 
 " Tell Ernest that I wish to see him," he 
 said to Margaret, who answered the bell. 
 
 Ernest opened the door, and advanced 
 toward his father with his usual happy 
 smile; but seeing a stranger present, he 
 stopped and hesitated. 
 
 " Come hither, Ernest," said his father, 
 holding out his hand to him. " I want to 
 make yon acquainted with your new friend, 
 Madame Dupont, the kind lady I was telling 
 you about yesterday. I am sure that you will 
 love and try to please her." 
 
 Though quiet and retiring, Ernest was by 
 no means a bashful child. He approached 
 Madame, and placing his hand in hers, gazed 
 earnestly into the face that looked so smil-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 173 
 
 ingly upon him. He submitted quietly to the 
 endearments and caresses she lavished so freely 
 upon him, but did not return them. As soon 
 as he could he went to his father, and leaning 
 his head against his shoulder, fixed his eyes 
 intently upon her countenance, watching 
 every gesture and look. As he gazed, the 
 eager, questioning look changed to one of dis- 
 appointment, as though he had been search- 
 ing for something that he could not find. 
 
 Child as he was, this quiet scrutiny an- 
 noyed Madame, and partly to hide it, and 
 partly to obtain some clue to his opinion of 
 her, she said, "You are looking very earn- 
 estly at me. Of what are you thinking, my 
 dear?" 
 
 Ernest dropped his eyes for a moment, 
 and then raising them quietly to her face, 
 said, " I was thinking about you." 
 
 Madame smiled. She knew that he was, 
 but she did not expect this frank admission. 
 "And what are you thinking about me?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 " I was thinking whether you was good, 
 and if I should like you." 
 
 "How have you decided the question?" 
 said Madame, laughing, and evidently ex- 
 pecting a flattering answer.
 
 174 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " I haven't made up my mind yet." 
 
 In any other child, this reply would have 
 seemed rude. But it was spoken with such 
 unaffected simplicity, there was such a per- 
 fect unconsciousness of having said anything 
 that could possibly give offense, that it was 
 impossible so to consider it. 
 
 Madame Dupont was evidently somewhat 
 embarrassed at this unexpected reply ; but 
 hiding her discomfiture under a gay laugh, 
 she turned to his father and said, " You are 
 right, he is odd. But after we are better 
 acquainted, I have no doubt we shall be very 
 good friends." 
 
 The reader cannot have formed a very 
 favorable estimate of Madame' Dupont' s 
 character. 
 
 Both her parents were disciples of Vol- 
 taire. She drank in infidelity with her 
 mother's milk, received it with her father's 
 caresses. When a little child, she was ac- 
 customed to hear His name derided and 
 blasphemed whom Christian children ap- 
 proach with such holy awe. 
 
 Her father, who was a merchant in easy, 
 but not affluent circumstances, was very 
 proud of her beauty and talents, and spared 
 no expense in her education, in the hope that
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 175 
 
 she would make a brilliant marriage. He 
 was not disappointed. Upon her eighteenth 
 birthday Adela Dubois married an honor- 
 able man, far above her in wealth and sta- 
 tion, to whom he gave, in return for her 
 hand, a love and trust of which she proved 
 herself unworthy. 
 
 Young and giddy, the young wife plunged 
 madly into every species of fashionable dis- 
 sipation. She had no arbiter but her per- 
 verted conscience, no guide but her blinded 
 and deluded heart. To her there was no 
 sacredness in the marriage vow ; so when 
 the tempter came he found her an easy 
 dupe. A dupe, did I say ? Nay, she gloried 
 in thus defying what she termed the " tyr- 
 anny of custom." 
 
 Accustomed from her childhood to every 
 luxury, the comparative poverty in which 
 she found herself, after- the death of her re- 
 puted husband, was a source of mortification 
 and discomfort. Accident threw Mr. Rich- 
 mond in her way, and her mind caught 
 eagerly at the idea that his might be the 
 hand destined to raise her from her present 
 depressed situation to her former ease and 
 splendor. And when he proposed that she 
 should take charge of Ernest, her heart ex-
 
 176 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 ulted as she thought of the opportunity it 
 would give her to put her plan into execu- 
 tion. 
 
 And this was the person to whose care 
 the high-minded and sharp-sighted Albert 
 Richmond intrusted the being in whom 
 every hope was centered, and around whom 
 was twined every fiber of his heart ! A wo- 
 man, of whose past history and character he 
 knew nothing, and whose chief recommenda- 
 tion to this office was the fact that she de- 
 nied her God and rejected her Saviour. O 
 willfully blinded heart ! how long will God 
 bear with you, how long will he suffer you ? 
 How true it is, that the most profound learn- 
 ing, the highest wisdom that this world 
 can give, are but the glare of a meteor to 
 the hearts destitute of the light of His truth ; 
 often leading their feet still further astray, 
 and serving but to make the darkness of their 
 moral natures still more visible. 
 
 N"o Christian parent ever strove more earn- 
 estly to impress the truths of revealed relig- 
 ion upon the mind of a beloved child than 
 did Mr. Richmond to remove every such 
 impression from the heart of Ernest. He 
 was excluded from everybody and every- 
 thing that could possibly remind him of the
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 177 
 
 existence of God. His father supplied him 
 with books, chiefly of an amusing character ; 
 but those which had hi them only the name 
 of the Supreme Being, or alluded ever so re- 
 motely to our obligations to love and serve 
 him, were kept carefully out of his way. 
 
 Mr. Richmond had recently purchased a 
 picture, which he valued highly on account of 
 its great artistic beauty. It was a Madonna, 
 holding to her bosom her divine boy. There 
 was something in the expression of the child's 
 countenance that reminded him of Ernest, 
 and it was this that first attracted his atten- 
 tion, and induced him to buy it. 
 
 Ernest knew, by the faint halo around the 
 head, that it was a representation of the in- 
 fant Saviour, and for hours he would gaze 
 upon it with an expression of rapt and holy 
 awe upon his countenance. His father no- 
 ticed the deep interest he appeared to take 
 in it, though it was some time before he 
 understood the cause. 
 
 One day as Ernest stood before it, appar- 
 ently completely absorbed by the contempla- 
 tion of its beauty, his father remarked, " You 
 like to look at that picture, Ernest." 
 
 "Yes, papa," returned Ernest, without 
 removing his eyes from it. " It never seemed
 
 178 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 so clear to my mind before that He was 
 once a little boy like me." 
 
 Mr. Richmond frowned and bit his lip, 
 vexed at his oversight. But of this Ernest 
 was wholly unconscious, murmuring softly 
 to himself, " For my sake he became a little 
 child." 
 
 True to the line of policy he had adopted, 
 his father paid no attention to this ; but the 
 next morning the picture disappeared. 
 
 As soon as Ernest noticed it he sought his 
 father. " Papa," he said, " what has become 
 'of that beautiful picture that was in the 
 parlor ?" 
 
 " I have sent it away, my son." 
 
 Ernest's eyes filled with tears. " O papa!" 
 he exclaimed, " I am so sorry ! It was all 
 the comfort I had left." 
 
 Mr. Richmond was both surprised and dis- 
 pleased at this emotion. " How is this, Ern- 
 est," he said, drawing him toward him, and 
 looking gravely into his face. " Do you 
 mean to say, that with all your father does 
 to make you happy, that picture was all the 
 comfort you had ? Is this the gratitude that 
 I have a right to expect from you ?" 
 
 " I did not mean exactly that, papa. Only 
 that it was all I had to remind me " Here
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 179 
 
 something in the expression of his father's 
 eye made him stop, for he felt that he was 
 treading on forbidden ground. 
 
 " Of what I wish you to forget, Ernest. 
 Is that what you meant to say?" said hi? 
 father in a tone of displeasure. 
 
 The unusual sternness in his father's look 
 and manner went to the heart of the affec- 
 tionate and sensitive child, and he turned his 
 head quickly away, as though it was some- 
 thing that he could not bear. But as there 
 dawned upon his mind the reason why the 
 picture had been removed, he raised his 
 head, saying, with flushed cheeks and spark- 
 ling eyes, 
 
 "I am very sorry to offend you, papa; 
 but if that is why you do all these things, 
 I must tell you, that though I have no books 
 or pictures, or anybody to remind me of my 
 Saviour, that I never can forget him !" 
 
 Mr. Richmond was astonished at the bold- 
 ness of this reply ; but the glimpse that it 
 gave him of a brave, determined spirit, 
 which, though engaged in so different a 
 cause, was so like to his own, brought a 
 smile to his lip. "What makes you think 
 so ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Because I never forget those that I love."
 
 180 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 " What makes you love him, Ernest ?" 
 
 " There are a great many reasons, papa ; 
 more than I can tell you. The first among 
 them is, because he first loved me." 
 
 "What makes you think that he loves 
 you?" 
 
 " Because he laid down his life for me. 
 There can be no greater love than that, 
 papa." 
 
 Vexed as his father was at the pertinacity 
 with which he clung to his faith in God, he 
 was pleased at the quickness and aptness of 
 his replies. " Bravo, my boy !" he exclaimed 
 laughing. " If I can only get these foolish 
 notions out of your head you will make a 
 famous lawyer one of these days." 
 
 Thrice happy child ! Neither the powers 
 of earth nor the gates of hell can prevail 
 against such as thee! How vain it is for 
 man to contend with the Almighty. From 
 the lips of the Eternal had gone forth the 
 words, "Lo, I have bought and redeemed 
 thee; thou art mine!"
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MADAME DUPONT'S DISCOMFITURE, 
 
 MADAME DUPOXT saw at once that the 
 nearest way to the father's confidence was 
 through his child, and she immediately set 
 about trying to win the love and confidence 
 of her young charge. But she found this to 
 be no easy task. 
 
 In the first place, she had no genuine love 
 for children. The instincts of children are 
 unerring in this respect. They readily learn 
 to distinguish between those who really love 
 them, and take pleasure in their society, and 
 those who merely tolerate them, or who seek 
 th'eir acquaintance from some ulterior motive. 
 Iv/ne.st could not help noticing that Madame 
 was much more lavish of her attentions in 
 his father's presence than when they were 
 by themselves ; and though he was too young 
 to understand the cause, he had no fSith in 
 her love for him, and shrank visibly from her 
 caresses, to her great annoyance. 
 
 In accordance to Mr. Richmond's instruc- 
 tions, Madame Dupont kept Ernest with her 
 12
 
 182 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 most of the time during the day ; but at 
 night she resigned him to the care of Mar- 
 garet, and with a feeling of relief, for with 
 all the interest she appeared to take in him, 
 his society was irksome to her. 
 
 One night, after Ernest had gone to his 
 room, Madame Dupont chanced to pass his 
 door. It was slightly ajar, and she caught 
 a glimpse of a figure in white kneeling be- 
 side the bed. It was Ernest. 
 
 To those born of Christian parents it 
 would have been a beautiful and touching 
 sight, that slight, delicate boy, with his 
 small hands clasped, his blue eyes raised, 
 and his lips moving in voiceless communion 
 with the Father of spirits. But alas for that 
 lovely but unfortunate woman ! It awak- 
 ened in her mind no holy and tender memo- 
 ries of her early years. She never knelt 
 beside a mother's knee, never listened to 
 the voice of prayer and supplication from a 
 father's lips. To her it was but an unmean- 
 ing and foolish superstition. 
 
 She knew that this was one of the habits to 
 which his father had alluded, and that there 
 was no surer way of winning his favor than 
 the fact that she had induced him to relin- 
 quish it, as she had little doubt but what she
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 183 
 
 could in time. She determined at first to 
 try the power of ridicule, which she judged, 
 from his sensitive and susceptible nature, 
 would be the most effective weapon. 
 
 Ernest was entirely unconscious that any 
 eye was on him, save the eye of God, until 
 a merry laugh fell upon his ear. He invol- 
 untarily turned his eyes toward the door ; 
 but as soon as he saw who it was, and un- 
 derstood the cause of her mirth, a flush 
 of indignation mounted to his face, suffusing 
 even his forehead. But it quickly passed 
 away. The sweetly serious expression came 
 back to his countenance as he quietly re- 
 sumed his devotions, concluding with the 
 Lord's prayer, which, as was his wont, he 
 repeated aloud, in low, but audible tones. 
 
 This quiet self-possession and gentle dig- 
 nity was so different from what Madame had 
 expected that she remained silent until he 
 arose from his knees, when she exclaimed, 
 with another laugh, 
 
 "Why Ernest, what in the world were 
 you doing down there upon the floor ? You 
 can't think how funny you looked." 
 
 Now Ernest was conscious that Madame 
 Dupont knew perfectly well what he was 
 doing, so he made no reply.
 
 184: ERXEST RICHMOND 
 
 Madame misconstrued this silence into a 
 feeling of shame and confusion, so she fol- 
 lowed it up by saying, "I suppose you were 
 talking to that wonderful unseen Friend of 
 yours. Now tell me honestly, Ernest, if 
 Willie Sargent had come in just then, 
 wouldn't you have felt a little ashamed ?" 
 
 We have said that Ernest bore no resem- 
 blance to his father in form or feature, yet 
 as she said this there was in the sudden 
 lighting of the eyes, the quick contraction 
 of the brow, and the compression of the lips 
 something of his father's look, which warned 
 Madame that, child as he was, she might be 
 going too far, and made her almost regret 
 what she had said. 
 
 "Yes, I was speaking to that Friend," he 
 said, "the best and kindest Friend that I 
 have. And I am not ashamed of it either. 
 I should be a great deal more ashamed if I 
 could be so ungrateful as to go to sleep 
 without thanking him for taking care of me 
 through the day. Christ says that those 
 who are ashamed of him, of them will he be 
 ashamed when he comes in the clouds with 
 great power and glory. And I am sure 
 that I shall not want him to be ashamed of 
 me then."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 185 
 
 Madame Dupont was astonished at this 
 outbreak. From his usually quiet and gen- 
 tle demeanor, she had supposed him to be 
 of a passive and yielding nature. But it 
 was not so. Ernest, though naturally very 
 affectionate, inherited from his father a quick 
 temper, and a strong, determined will, of 
 which he gave evidence even in his baby- 
 hood. But since this happy change had 
 come over him he rarely showed them, ex- 
 cepting, as in this instance, he was very 
 strongly moved. 
 
 It was no part of Madame's policy to 
 obtain Ernest's ill-will, so, after making 
 some soothing reply, she passed out of the 
 room, saying to herself as she closed the 
 door, "What a strange child! who would 
 have supposed he had so much spirit ?" 
 
 Madame Dupont thought that she had read 
 Mr. Richmond's character aright, but in one 
 respect she misjudged him. He was an infi- 
 del it was true, but he did not belong to 
 that school of philosophers who live only 
 for the present moment. Of late years he 
 had prided himself upon his morality. And 
 indeed, in some respects, he might have 
 brought a blush to the cheek of many who 
 profess to be guided by a higher power.
 
 186 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 It is true, when strongly excited he would 
 occasionally take the name of God in vain ; 
 but as he did not believe in the existence of 
 any such Being, it was to him but a foolish 
 habit, which he regretted that he had ever 
 contracted, but which he tried to persuade 
 himself violated no moral principle. Unbe- 
 lief had made him blind. 
 
 He believed in the strict subjugation of 
 the passions to the rule of reason and of 
 conscience, but scouted at the idea that any 
 higher power, any more unerring guide than 
 these were necessary to direct his steps 
 alight'. Unlike Him who has said that " the 
 heart is deceitful above all things," he had 
 an exalted opinion of the dignity of human 
 natxtre. He was not ignorant of the fact 
 that he possessed strong passions, but had 
 implicit confidence in his power to control 
 them, often declaring that he would show 
 Christians that, without the intervention of 
 supernatural power, he could conform his 
 life to the highest standard among them. 
 But alas for those who trust to the integrity 
 of their hearts, they will find them in the 
 hour of temptation but a broken reed ! 
 Who say to the tumultuous sea of human 
 passion, "thus far shalt thou go, and no
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 187 
 
 farther, and here shall thy proud waves be 
 stayed !" 
 
 A further acquaintance with Mr. Rich- 
 mond convinced Madame Dupont that to 
 accomplish her object she must proceed very 
 cautiously. So she was rather retiring in 
 her manner than otherwise, never appearing 
 to attract his attention, and yet every suc- 
 ceeding day strengthened the influence that 
 she was acquiring over the heart that was 
 so strong in its own strength. 
 
 This change from the society of a fretful, 
 exacting wife to that of one who seemed to 
 know by intuition his feelings and wishes, 
 and yet who was so unobtrusive in her 
 a'ttentions, could not fail to be a very pleas- 
 ant one. Madame, like most of her country- 
 women, was a brilliant conversationist. 
 Though there was not a great deal of depth 
 to her knowledge, she had read extensively, 
 and possessed the happy faculty of being 
 able to display her acquirements to thebest 
 advantage. 
 
 She was a beautiful reader, both in French 
 and English ; and it was very pleasant when 
 he returned from his business, wearied both 
 in mind and body, to recline upon a sofa and 
 listen to the words of some favorite author,
 
 188 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 spoken in such a musical voice, to which a 
 slightly foreign accent gave an additional 
 charm. 
 
 There was something very attractive in 
 this to a man possessing his warm and social 
 nature, and Mr. Richmond gave himself up 
 to its enjoyment, with scarce a thought of 
 danger to himself or child. 
 
 Alas for Albert Richmond ! was there no 
 hand to arrest him in his dangerous course ? 
 No guardian angel to stand between him 
 and the guilt, as yet scarce thought of, and 
 yet so very near ? Yes, God had sent one 
 in the form of the child, who Avas beside him, 
 and in whose clear eyes there Avas so much 
 of purity and perfect trust, that every guilty 
 thought shrank abashed before them. Who 
 fan tell hoAV many times that little hand 
 arrested his thoughtless feet? How often 
 the arms twined around his neck, the head 
 that nestled in his bosom, shielded him from 
 the p^wer of the tempter ? 
 
 Ernest was always strongly attached to 
 his father, but since he had been deprived of 
 the society of Ruth, he never seemed so 
 happy as when with him. On the days that 
 bis business called him away, he would 
 watch eagerly for his return, and the first
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 189 
 
 sound that would greet his father would be 
 the patter of his feet, and the glad music 
 of his voice as he exclaimed, "Papa, 
 papa." 
 
 The extreme fondness of Ernest for his 
 father's society was a serious inconvenience 
 to Madame. The restraint that his presence 
 imposed was irksome, and it created almost 
 a feeling of hatred toward the innocent cause 
 of it. It wounded her pride to see how 
 quickly his father would turn from her when 
 that little hand was laid upon his shoulder, 
 or the soft murmur of his voice fell upon his 
 ear. 
 
 At first she made various pretexts for 
 sending him from the room, but in vain. 
 "When his father was in the house Ernest 
 was always beside him, sometimes leaning 
 against his shoulder or his knee, though his 
 favorite seat was upon a cushion at his feet, 
 where he would sit, watching his every look 
 and motion, as though he feared to Iqse a 
 word that fell from his lips. 
 
 One day, as Mr. Richmond was engaged 
 in animated conversation with Madame Dii-. 
 pont, his eye chanced to fall upon Ernest. 
 To his self-accusing heart, there was in the 
 large, serious eyes raised to his an expres-
 
 190 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 sion of mingled sorrow and reproach that 
 startled him. 
 
 This idea took such a strong hold of his 
 mind, that when Madame left the room he 
 turned to Ernest and said, "What made 
 you look so at me, Ernest when Madame 
 and I were talking? Did you think we 
 were doing anything wrong ?" 
 
 "Wrong, papa?" returned Ernest, in a 
 surprised tone. " I never thought of such a 
 thing as your doing wrong. I don't know 
 what did make. me look at you. It was be- 
 cause I love you, I think ; I always like to 
 look at those that I love." 
 
 O guileless heart of childhood ! There 
 was in this perfect love, this unquestioning 
 trust, a reproach sharper than the fiercest de- 
 nunciation. Mr. Richmond never felt till 
 then how unworthy he was to be the father 
 of such a child. "Dear bey," he said to 
 himself, as he laid his hand softly upon his 
 head, " I never will give you reason to think 
 otherwise." And Mr. Richmond meant 
 what he said. Conscience was beginning to 
 warn him of the folly and imprudence of 
 thus parleying with temptation, and he de- 
 termined to be more cautious for the future. 
 But alas, he trusted in his own strength !
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 191 
 
 Mr. Richmond went nearly every day to 
 B., for his business was such that he could 
 not leave it altogether, frequently not re- 
 turning until after dusk. Ernest always 
 wanted to sit up for him, much to Madame 
 Dupont's vexation, who for reasons of her 
 own was anxious to have him retire early. 
 She often managed to have him go to bed, 
 but he never went to sleep until he had seen 
 his father; for well Ernest knew that his 
 father's first inquiry would be for him, and 
 learning where he was, he would proceed at 
 once to his chamber. 
 
 But all at once a change came over him. 
 From being extremely wakeful and restless, 
 he became very sleepy as night came on, 
 going to bed of his own accord, and falling 
 into a heavy slumber as soon as his head 
 touched the pillow. He also looked pale 
 and listless during the day, seeming to lose 
 both his strength and appetite. But his 
 father did not notice this particularly, being 
 very much occupied by his business. 
 
 One night Mr. Richmond returned, and 
 not finding Ernest below, went directly to 
 his room. 
 
 He bent over the pillow where he lay, and 
 brushed back the curls from his forehead.
 
 192 EENEST RICHMOND 
 
 " What, asleep again ?" he said. " My poor 
 tired toy. How pale he looks, and how 
 heavily he slumbers. Has he been as well 
 as usual through the day ?" he inquired of 
 Madame Dupont, who was standing by. 
 
 " Yes. But he complained of being very 
 tired, so I thought it best for him to go to 
 bed." 
 
 " You were right ; it is better for him to 
 retire early. It is strange how much I miss 
 him, he is such a child. And yet it is not 
 so very strange, for I believe he is the only 
 being that really loves me." 
 
 As Mr. Richmond said this a half sigh 
 escaped from his lips. 
 
 Just at that moment a sharp and piercing 
 cry rang through that quiet chamber. 
 
 Mr. Richmond turned involuntarily toward 
 the bed where Ernest lay. The eyes were 
 closed, and he was apparently still asleep ; 
 but the arms were thrown wildly up, and 
 the countenance, but a moment before so 
 calm and placid, was convulsed "with an 
 expression of grief and horror that was 
 painful to behold. 
 
 Mr. Richmond immediately sprang to the 
 bed and raised him up. Ernest opened his 
 eyes and fixed them upon his father's face.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 193 
 
 " O papa !" he exclaimed, clinging to him 
 convulsively, "I thought I had lost you !" 
 
 "Lost me? My precious boy, you have 
 been dreaming," said his father, seating him- 
 self upon the bed, and taking the terrified 
 child tenderly into his arms. 
 
 " O, but it seemed so real ! I thought 
 that you were falling into a deep, dark pit. 
 I was trying to help you, but you slipped 
 away from me. O, it was so dreadful!" 
 And Ernest hid his face in his father's bosom, 
 as if to hide from his eyes the terrible sight. 
 
 " My child, it was nothing but a dream," 
 said his father soothingly. " Don't think of 
 it any more. Papa is close beside you. 
 There is nothing here to harm you or him." 
 
 Mr. Richmond, in order to reassure his 
 child, smiled cheerfully upon him. But a 
 solemn feeling came over him. The words 
 that Ernest had spoken sank deep into his 
 heart. Conscience was busy there. Well 
 did he know, as no one else save God could 
 know, that his feet were indeed slipping. 
 
 As he looked upon his child, the dignity 
 and responsibility of paternity aroused in his 
 heart the strength of his manhood. The 
 slight rustle of a dress near him reminded 
 him of Madame Dupont's presence. " You
 
 194 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 must be weary," he said ; " I will not detain 
 you any longer." 
 
 Madame hesitated. "Is there not some- 
 thing that I can do for Ernest or for you ?" 
 she said. 
 
 " Nothing," he replied without raising his 
 eyes. " The child was only frightened ; he 
 will be better soon." And Madame left the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Richmond held Ernest in his arms 
 until he had fallen into a quiet slumber, and 
 then laid him back upon the pillow. " If I 
 was inclined to be superstitious," he said, 
 " I should say that this was a warning sent 
 by heaven. But pshaw ! what folly, though 
 it certainly was a curious coincidence !" And 
 with this thought he banished it completely 
 from his mind.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ER&EST IS TAKEN ILL. 
 
 THE next night Mr. Richmond did not re- 
 turn until quite late. One of the servants 
 met him at the door with intelligence that 
 Ernest was very ill. He' went to his room 
 and found him lying upon the bed, his limbs 
 rigid, his eyes rolled up and fixed, apparently 
 unconscious of all around him. 
 
 The physician sent for had just arrived. 
 By the application of active remedies the 
 limbs relaxed, and the countenance resumed 
 something of its natural expression ; but a 
 heavy stupor was upon him, from which it. 
 was difficult to rouse him. 
 
 " What do you think of him, doctor ?" in- 
 quired Mr. Richmond anxiously. 
 
 " He is in no immediate danger, sir," re- 
 plied Dr. Lee gravely. " But what is it that 
 he has been taking ?" 
 
 Mr. Richmond looked surprised. "Not 
 anything," he replied; "he takes no medi- 
 cine whatever." 
 
 "But he must have taken something,"
 
 196 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 said Dr. Lee in a positive tone. " He bears 
 every appearance of being under the influ- 
 ence of some powerful narcotic; and his 
 countenance indicates that he has been ac- 
 customed to its use for some time." 
 
 " Impossible, doctor," exclaimed Mr. Rich- 
 mond. " I am strongly opposed to anything 
 of the kind, and no one would dare to give 
 it to him without my knowledge !" 
 
 " Margaret," he said, turning to the girl, 
 who had just entered the room, "do you 
 know of Ernest taking any medicine ?" 
 
 Margaret looked frightened, and cast an 
 imploring glance at Madame Dupont, who 
 turned pale and gave her a warning gesture, 
 but which was unperceived by Mr. Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 " No prevarication, woman," said her mas- 
 ter sternly, irritated by this hesitation, and 
 the fears that it aroused. "Answer me, 
 what have you been giving him ?" 
 
 Overcome by terror, the girl pointed to a 
 small vial upon the mantle. 
 
 Dr. Lee took it and put it to his lips. " It 
 contains a large proportion of laudanum," 
 he said as he placed it in Mr. Richmond's 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Richmond turned pale with indigna-
 
 Maigaret's Confusion.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 199 
 
 tion. " Margaret," he said, " what fiend 
 possessed you to do this ? Did you intend 
 to murder the poor child ?" 
 
 Margaret put her apron to her face and 
 burst into tears. " O no, indeed, sir," she 
 exclaimed. "I'm sure I love him too well 
 for that, poor, dear lamb! I thought that 
 it was something to do him good. Madame 
 Dupont said so ; and you know you told me 
 to obey her orders." 
 
 Too true, he had. 
 
 "Was it done by Madame Dupont's or- 
 ders ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, sir ; and I'm sure I thought 
 no harm of it." 
 
 Mr. Richmond turned to confront the 
 guilty woman, but she had left the room. 
 
 The unhappy man sank upon a chair and 
 covered his hands ; and as the conviction 
 rushed upon his mind that he had, by his 
 misplaced confidence hi a stranger, brought 
 his only child to the verge of the grave, a 
 groan burst from his lips. 
 
 It was terrible to see this strong man 
 crushed down with such a feeling of shame 
 and agony. And it touched the heart of the 
 kind-hearted physician, who, approaching 
 him, said: "Come, sir, you must not yield 
 13
 
 200 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 to despair. Things are not so bad as they 
 might have been." 
 
 " Then you think that my child will live ?" 
 inquired Mr. Richmond eagerly. 
 
 " While there is life there is always hope," 
 said Dr. Lee evasively. " Your son's consti- 
 tution is delicate, and it has received a heavy 
 shock. Still, as I told you, he is in no im- 
 mediate danger. As for the future, that is 
 in the hands of God." 
 
 God! How terribly that name struck 
 upon his heart ! Was there a God ? If so, 
 was not this a fearful retribution ? But no, 
 it could not be ; he would not have it so ! 
 There was no such being ; and even if there 
 was, he could not leave his child in his hands. 
 
 O man, with whom the Spirit of God is 
 even now striving, is it not hard for thee to 
 kick against the pricks ? 
 
 Unable to face the indignation of the in- 
 jured father, and fearful of the consequences, 
 in case Ernest should die, Madame Dupont 
 left the house the next morning before the 
 break of day, and was no more seen in that 
 neighborhood. 
 
 It was some days before Ernest was able 
 to leave his room, and when he did he looked 
 PO pale and languid that it created a feeling
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 201 
 
 of sympathy in the hearts of every one who 
 saw him. 
 
 Dr. Lee called to see him daily, and his 
 father gave up everything, and devoted him- 
 self exclusively to him. 
 
 Dr. Lee was a man of sense and discern- 
 ment, and he saw, with all Ernest's apparent 
 tranquillity, that there was something on his 
 mind, that he was not happy, though he was 
 unable to discover the cause. He spoke to 
 Mr. Richmond about it, and told him that it 
 might be that he was pining for his home 
 and mother. If so, to take him there at 
 once, for everything depended upon his mind 
 being kept perfectly calm and tranquil. 
 
 Mr. Richmond's countenance assumed a 
 thoughtful expression, and there was evi- 
 dently quite a struggle in his heart. But in 
 the end the father triumphed. "I had some 
 reasons for not wishing to take him home 
 at present," he said. "But if it is as im- 
 portant as you say, he shall go directly." 
 
 As soon as Dr. Lee had left the house, 
 Mr. Richmond sought Ernest. He found 
 him in his favorite seat by the open window, 
 looking out upon the water. 
 
 As soon as Ernest observed his father, he 
 looked up with his usual happy smile. But
 
 202 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 Mr. Richmond could not fail to detect the 
 sad expression that his countenance wore but 
 a moment before, and taking both of his 
 hands in his, and looking steadily into the 
 eyes that were raised to his, he said, "My 
 child, are you not happy here ?" 
 
 " Everybody is so kind to me, papa, that I 
 ought to be very happy." 
 
 " But, Ernest, would you be any happier if 
 you were back again in your old home ?" 
 
 A faint color broke into the boy's pale 
 cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with something 
 of their olden light. "O papa," he ex- 
 claimed, "I should be a great deal happier 
 there !" 
 
 " Then you shall go to-morrow." 
 
 Ernest cast a grateful glance upon his 
 father. 
 
 " Is there any one there that you wish to 
 see in particular?" inquired Mr. Richmond, 
 after a pause. 
 
 Ernest hesitated. But something in his 
 father's eye gave him courage to speak, and 
 he said, "Ruthy, papa. If I could only see 
 her again before " Here he checked himself. 
 
 " Before what, Ernest?" 
 
 " Before I go hence, papa, not to return 
 again."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 203 
 
 It was not these words alone, so calmly 
 and simply spoken, but the look and tone 
 that accompanied them tint sent such a 
 thrill of anguish to the father's heart. For 
 a moment he looked searchingly into that 
 thin, pale face, as if to find some confirma- 
 tion of his hopes, some denial of his fears, 
 and then he turned his eyes away, as though 
 there was something written there that he 
 could not bear to read. 
 
 "My child," he said at last, "why will 
 you talk so ? You are all the comfort that 
 I have ; I cannot lose you." 
 
 Ernest looked at his father, while a sad 
 and troubled expression shadowed his coun- 
 tenance. His father was always so calm 
 and self-possessed, that this sudden burst of 
 anguish startled him. For the first time he 
 realized what a void his death would make 
 in the heart that loved him so fondly. 
 " Dear papa, poor papa," was his involun- 
 tary exclamation, " you will not lose me ! 
 Or if you do, it will be only for a little while ; 
 you will find me some day where you will 
 never lose me again. But I forgot ; you can- 
 not understand this now. But some time 
 you will. Yes, I am quite sure that some 
 day you will understand it."
 
 204 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 It was a strange sight to see that frail, 
 delicate child trying to comfort that strong 
 man, stroking with his little trembling 
 hands his bearded cheek, and looking into 
 his face with such an expression of tender 
 pity. 
 
 And well did Mr. Richmond remember, in 
 the days that were coming, those words, 
 " some day you will understand it"
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ERNEST RETURNS HOME. 
 
 WE will now return to Ruth Sidney, 
 whom we left in the pleasant town of B. 
 quietly pursuing her unobtrusive way. Day 
 after day, during all the pleasant season of 
 flowers and sunshine, found her in her little 
 school-room, surrounded by the bright, 
 happy faces that looked to her for aid and 
 counsel in every childish difficulty and 
 trouble. 
 
 One would have supposed by looking at 
 her that she was completely absorbed by 
 the duties of her calling, that her thoughts 
 never strayed beyond it. Yet many times 
 during the day there would glide between 
 her and the faces that surrounded her that 
 of the dear child whom she never expected 
 to see again on earth, and she would find 
 herself wondering what had become of him, 
 and if he still remembered all she had taught 
 him. 
 
 But she thought of him most at the close 
 of day, when the shadows began to lengthen,
 
 206 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 and her hours of toil were over. Then they 
 were always together, sometimes in the gar- 
 den, which was a favorite resort to them in 
 pleasant weather, sometimes in the house, 
 sitting upon the window-seat in the large, 
 old-fashioned bay window that overlooked 
 it. Often they would take long rambles in 
 the woods beyond, not returning until the 
 sun was sinking behind the hills. Then 
 he was so companionable ; with all his child- 
 ish simplicity, so old for his age. This was 
 evinced, not only in the elevation of his 
 thoughts, but in the language in which he 
 clothed them, which was far beyond his 
 years, and which was partly owing to a nat- 
 ural precocity of intellect, and partly to the 
 fact that he was mostly in the society of 
 persons older than himself. 
 
 But the time when she missed him most 
 was in those seasons when she sought the 
 holy presence and benediction of the Guide 
 of her youth. O how she missed then the 
 little form that had always knelt beside her, 
 the hand that was clasped in hers. And 
 when she knelt there alone, how fervently 
 did her heart ascend in prayer, that He who 
 had bidden her " cast her bread upon the 
 waters" would not forget his gracious
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 207 
 
 promise, that she should " find it after many 
 days." 
 
 In confirmation of the promise, that in 
 blessing others we shall ourselves be blessed, 
 her daily intercotirse with him, the knowl- 
 edge that she had been the feeble instru- 
 ment of pouring into his darkened mind the 
 light of the Gospel, had a salutary effect 
 upon her heart and life, unconsciously 
 strengthening a nature too timid and self- 
 distrustful. 
 
 She never said to herself, "It is but a 
 child, too young to understand things of 
 such high and holy import," but what she 
 thought of Ernest.. And never did she lose 
 an opportunity of impressing upon the 
 minds of her young charge some holy lesson, 
 some divine truth of leading their hearts to 
 Him who once took just such little ones in 
 his arms and blessed them, and who, in 
 encouraging such to come to him, has said, 
 " they that seek me early shall find me." 
 
 And in the success that followed her 
 efforts, she found additional testimony of a 
 truth that it is to be feared parents little 
 realize, that it is a great deal easier for a 
 little child to yield its heart to God in the 
 morning of youth than in after life, when it
 
 208 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 has become seared and hardened by long 
 and familiar intercourse with the world. 
 And from many of those who resisted her 
 every effort to set their feet in the right 
 path did she receive, in after years, the glad 
 assurance that the seed, which apparently fell 
 in stony places, had borne fruit a hundredfold. 
 
 Occasional rumors reached Ruth that 
 Ernest's health was failing ; but though they 
 fell very sadly upon her heart, as she thought 
 of the infidel father to whose guardianship 
 he was consigned, she felt that she otight 
 not to mourn even if her worst fears were 
 realized. But it made her doubly anxious 
 to ascertain whether he. remained steadfast 
 in his faith in Him to whom she had so 
 many reasons to "hope he had given his 
 young heart. But this she had no means of 
 knowing. 
 
 That part of the house occupied by Mr. 
 Richmond's family was shut up during their 
 absence. Ruth caught an occasional glimpse 
 of Mr. Richmond entering the house or 
 leaving it, but she never met him face to 
 face but once, and that was by accident. 
 She was passing one morning from the house 
 by an unfrequented path which led to the 
 open road, which was the way she always
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 209 
 
 took, when she saw him standing by the 
 garden gate talking with the gardener. She 
 did not perceive him until it was too late to 
 retreat without appearing to avoid him, so 
 she passed quietly along, without seeming to 
 be aware of his presence. As she approached 
 the gate he sprang forward and opened it, 
 and then raising his hat, kept his head 
 uncovered until she had passed through. 
 Ruth cast a quick glance at his countenance, 
 to see if there was not some irony mingled 
 with this deep respect ; but the gentle defer- 
 ence in his look and manner made her 
 ashamed of this suspicion, and she received it, 
 as he meant that she should, as an acknowl- 
 edgment of the injustice he had done her, 
 and her heart felt lighter as she passed along, 
 she hardly knew why. 
 
 One day during the latter part of Septem- 
 ber, as she was returning from her school at 
 noon, she noticed an unusual bustle in the 
 main part of the building. The blinds in the 
 sitting room and parlors were thrown open, 
 and there was every indication that it was 
 about to be occupied ; but whether by Mr. 
 Richmond's family or some other she was 
 unable to determine. 
 
 Near the close of the same day, as Ruth
 
 210 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 sat by the open door reading, she was start- 
 led by a tall shadow which fell across the 
 threshold, and upon looking up she saw Mr. 
 Richmond. 
 
 Pei'haps it was the surprise that was so 
 visible upon her countenance, or the recol- 
 lection of their last interview ; but his face 
 flushed as he met her eye, and for a moment 
 he hesitated, as if he hardly knew Avhat to 
 say. But quickly recovering himself, he said, 
 
 " You look surprised at this intrusion, 
 Miss Sidney, and I do not wonder at it. 
 But you will be still more surprised when 
 you learn my errand. I have just brought 
 Ernest home, who is very feeble. I will 
 not deny but what it would have pleased 
 me .better if he had entirely forgotten you, 
 but he has not done this ; and as his physi- 
 cian assures me that any mental uneasiness 
 will greatly lessen the chances of his recovery, 
 my object in calling upon you to-night is 
 not only to withdraw my interdiction to 
 your intercourse, but to request you to 
 spend as much time with him as you conven- 
 iently can, assuring you that in a pecuniary 
 sense you shall not lose by so doing." 
 
 Ruth took in only one idea from these 
 words, and that was that Ernest was near
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 211 
 
 her, and that she should soon see him, and 
 tears came to her eyes as she said, "O Mr. 
 Richmond, you don't know how happy you 
 have made me !" 
 
 There was so much heart in this, such a 
 complete forgetfulness of self, that for a 
 moment a smile played around Mr. Rich- 
 mond's lips, though it was a sad one, and 
 for the first time Ruth noticed how pale and 
 careworn he looked. 
 
 " Ernest is very tired to-night," he re- 
 sumed as he turned to depart, "and it 
 would hardly be prudent to subject him to 
 any further excitement; but to-morrow I 
 should like to have you come in and see 
 him. I have given orders to have you 
 admitted to his room at any time." 
 
 To appreciate this sacrifice on Mr. Rich- 
 mond's part, one must fully understand his 
 character and motives. His was one of 
 those resolute, unbending natures, with 
 whom his principles and opinions were a 
 part of himself. He was characterized, even 
 in his boyhood, by a strong, determined will, 
 which was never subdued ; and it was not a 
 small thing that could induce him to swerve 
 thus from the path he had marked out. The 
 reader must remember that the education
 
 212 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 he had laid down for his son was with him 
 the carrying out of a fixed principle, and the 
 result of many hours of anxious study. And 
 nothing but the thought by what a frail 
 thread the life of his boy hung, and the hope 
 that when the crisis was passed he would 
 soon become strong enough to bear without 
 injury the decisive measures which he then 
 intended to take to carry this plan into exe- 
 cution, could have induced him to have 
 countenanced anything which could possi- 
 bly have interfered with it. And this unex- 
 pected deviation was, in itself, the most con- 
 vincing proof he could have given of the 
 strength and intensity of the love he bore 
 his child. 
 
 It would be impossible for us to give the 
 reader an adequate description of the meet- 
 ing between Ruth and Ernest. Ruth knew 
 his excitable nature, and before she went in 
 she schooled herself to show as little emotion 
 as possible, fearful of the effect it might 
 have upon him. But, to her surprise, he was 
 perfectly calm and tranquil, meeting her as 
 though they had parted but yesterday. He 
 wound his arms around her neck, and laid 
 his head upon her bosom with a look ex- 
 pressive of perfect satisfaction. " Dear little
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 213 
 
 mother, I knew that God would answer my 
 prayer, that I should see you again," he 
 said. 
 
 It was some minutes before Ruth could 
 speak. She expected to see him altered, 
 but was not prepared for such a change in 
 him. As she brushed the curls away from 
 his temples she noticed how distinctly the 
 blue veins were visible, and how pale and 
 thin his cheeks had grown since his head 
 last rested upon her bosom. 
 
 "Is God still your friend, Ernest?" said 
 Ruth, in tones which she vainly endeavored 
 to render steady. " Is Christ as near to you 
 as he used to be ?" 
 
 Ernest's eyes grew radiant with a pure, 
 holy light. "A great deal nearer, a thou- 
 sand times better !" he said fervently ; " and 
 I shall soon be very near to him, Ruthy ; 
 for I am going to him in a little while, to 
 stay with him forever !" 
 
 " Are you willing to go, Ernest ?" 
 
 Ernest looked at Ruth as though he did 
 not comprehend her, and then said, "I am 
 very glad to go, Ruthy." 
 
 "I used to be afraid to die," he resumed 
 after a brief pause. " It seemed so sad to 
 be buried in the cold, dark ground, that I
 
 214 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 could not bear to think of it. But it don't 
 seem so to me now." 
 
 Ruth looked at him in astonishment. How 
 old he had grown in spiritual knowledge 
 since she last saw him ! But, anxious to as- 
 certain if he had just grounds for this perfect 
 trust, she said : 
 
 " What makes it seem different to you, 
 Ernest ? You are very young to die. This 
 is a beautiful world, and you cannot, surely, 
 have seen so much trouble in your short life 
 as to make you glad to leave it." 
 
 " It is not that, little mother. I know this 
 world is very beautiful ; and now that I have 
 seen you, I am perfectly happy. But don't 
 you remember what you read to me once 
 I never have forgotten it ' that to depart to 
 be with Christ is far better ?' And now sing 
 to me, Ruthy ; it is a long time since I have 
 heard you sing." 
 
 And Ruth sang. At first her voice was 
 indistinct and tremulous, for she was deeply 
 affected; but as she proceeded, something 
 of the holy calm which filled the heart of this 
 dear child seemed to enter into her own soul, 
 and it grew clear and steady. And though 
 she knew, by the door that softly opened, 
 and by the sound of a quiet step near her,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 215 
 
 that she had another listener, she did not 
 cease until she saw by Ernest's closed eyes 
 and regular breathing that he had fallen into 
 a quiet slumber. 
 
 Was it the sight of that young girl hold- 
 ing his child so tenderly in her arms, that 
 softened with such a gleam of tenderness 
 that stern face ? No ; his thoughts were far 
 away. That hymn his mother had sang to 
 him when he was a boy ; he had not heard 
 it since. And as he listened, the long tide 
 of years rolled back; he stood beside his 
 mother's knee ; he felt the soft pressure of 
 her hand upon his head, and her gentle voice 
 pleading with him to give his heart to God. 
 
 Alas for that proud, rebellious heart ! It 
 could suffer, but would not yield. He shook 
 off this emotion as unworthy of his man- 
 hood ; he crushed down all those pure and 
 holy memories and went his way, " choos- 
 ing darkness rather than light." 
 
 One day, as Ernest was lying upon his 
 little couch, which was so constructed that 
 it could be wheeled to any part of the room, 
 Margaret opened the door and said : 
 
 "Thomas Con way is down stairs, and 
 wants to know if he can see Ernest." 
 
 Ernest raised his head, while his cheeks 
 14
 
 216 ERNEST EICHMOND 
 
 flushed with pleasure. "What, Tommy?" 
 he exclaimed eagerly. " Please let him come 
 right up, Margaret. I was just thinking 
 about him." 
 
 In a few moments Thomas entered. He 
 had combed out his tangled locks of hair 
 until they lay quite smoothly around his 
 finely-shaped head, and his hands and face 
 were really quite miracles of cleanliness ; but 
 his patched and soiled garments, and bare, 
 brown feet, looked strangely out of keeping 
 in that elegantly-furnished room. Perhaps 
 some such thought as this passed through 
 Thomas's mind, for he looked awkward and 
 embarrassed, as he cast a furtive glance 
 around. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, Tommy," said 
 Ernest, smiling and holding out his hand. 
 
 Thomas held that slender hand awkwardly 
 for a moment in his hard, sunburnt palm, as 
 if he hardly knew what to do with it, and 
 then laid it carefully down. 
 
 "I heard that you were sick, Erny, and 
 so I brought you these," he said, holding 
 out a little basket full of ripe berries. " I 
 picked them down by Elder Brook." 
 
 " Thank you, Tommy ; they are very nice, 
 and you were very kind to think of me."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 217 
 
 "I am glad you have got home, Erny," 
 said Thomas, evidently more at his ease now 
 that he had done his errand. 
 
 " I shall stay only a little while, Tommy ; 
 by and by I am going to another home. O 
 Tommy, you don't know how happy it would 
 make me if I could only think that some day 
 you would go there too !" 
 
 " And so I will, Erny, if you go. That is, 
 if I only knew the way." 
 
 " There is only one way, Tommy, and that 
 is by Christ. He is the way, and we can 
 reach that happy home only through him." 
 
 As Thomas comprehended the full mean- 
 ing of these words he looked very sober, 
 but made no reply. 
 
 In a few minutes he took up his basket, 
 and turned to leave the room. " You must 
 come and see me again, Tommy," said Ern- 
 est, just as he was closing the door. 
 
 For some time after Thomas had gone out 
 Ernest lay quite still, evidently absorbed in 
 thought. At last he turned to Ruth, who 
 was sitting by him, and asked her if Thomas 
 went to school. To which she said, " No." 
 
 " Don't he go to Sabbath-school ?" 
 
 "I am afraid not, Ernest. His father is 
 not willing that he should go."
 
 218 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 "Dear! dear!" said Ernest sadly. "He 
 is such a kind boy ; what a pity it is that he 
 should grow up so! How I wish that I 
 could do something for him." 
 
 After this Thomas came to see Ernest 
 nearly every day, sometimes bringing him 
 little presents of fruit or flowers ; though, 
 with a consideration hardly to be expected 
 from him, his visits were very brief. Upon 
 a further acquaintance with him, Ruth ceased 
 to wonder at the affection that Ernest evinced 
 for him. He showed so many indications of 
 a noble, ingenuous nature, and an intellect, 
 though entirely uncultivated, of such unusual 
 strength and vigor, that she began to take a 
 daily increasing interest in him.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MR. RICHMOND GIVES ERNEST UP. 
 
 DAY after day, slowly but surely, Ernest's 
 strength failed, until it was evident to every 
 one but his father that the lovely child was 
 passing away from earth. 
 
 Mr. Richmond either could not, or would 
 not see this, still clinging fondly to the belief 
 that he was growing stronger and better. 
 "Ernest w T as never a rugged child," he said; 
 " this was only a weakness, some childish 
 ailment that would soon pass away. He 
 was not alarmed about him." 
 
 And yet in many ways, by his care to 
 shield him from the slightest exposure, 
 and the anxiety with which he watched 
 every varying symptom, did he evince that 
 down deep in his heart there were fears 
 that he would not acknowledge, even to 
 himself. 
 
 One afternoon Mr. Richmond entered 
 Ernest's room. He found him sitting up in 
 his low rocking-chair. His cheeks were 
 crimson, and his eyes radiant with the fever
 
 220 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 that was burning in his veins, investing him 
 with a beauty that was almost dazzling; but 
 it was an unearthly loveliness that pained 
 the heart to look upon. 
 
 But his father saw nothing of this. "How 
 well he is looking," he thought as he gazed 
 upon him. " How are you feeling now, 
 Ernest ?" he said, as he stooped to kiss his 
 cheek. 
 
 " I am a great deal better, papa," was the 
 reply. " I shall soon be quite well." 
 
 A gleam of triumph shot across Mr. Rich- 
 mond's face. Ernest perceived at once that 
 his father had misunderstood him, and 
 hastened to say, "But it will be in that 
 land, papa, where the inhabitants never say 
 I am sick, where there is neither darkness or 
 the shadow of death." 
 
 The smile of triumphant joy that played 
 around Ernest's lips as he said these words 
 is beyond all description. But it awoke no 
 corresponding feeling in his father's heart. 
 The sudden revulsion that came over him 
 was too much for his self-command, and 
 without saying another word, he turned and 
 left the room. 
 
 Ernest's eyes followed him to the door 
 with an expression of love and compassion,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 221 
 
 suqh as the glorified spirits of heaven might 
 feel who have passed above all earthly care 
 and sorrow. " Poor papa !" he said, and 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 Ruth was in the room, and her tears were 
 falling fast. " Have you no thought for me, 
 Ernest?" she said as soon as she could 
 speak. " I shall be all alone when you are 
 gone." 
 
 Ernest put his arms around Ruth's neck, 
 and laid his cheek lovingly against hers. 
 " Dear little mother," he said, " I know that 
 you will feel badly for a little while, but you 
 will not be alone, for God will send his Com- 
 forter to you. It is not because I do not 
 think of yoxi ; but you know where and to 
 whom I am going. It is different with papa ; 
 tie thinks that he is going to lose me forever. 
 I said poor papa, but I cannot say that about 
 you, Ruthy, for those who are rich toward 
 God can never be poor. You told me that 
 yourself, little mother. Don't you remem- 
 ber it?" 
 
 There was a time when Ruth had taught 
 Ernest, but that time was past. He was the 
 teacher now, and she was content that it 
 should be so. Many times would he remind 
 her of things she had told him that she had
 
 222 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 forgotten, but which he had treasured up in 
 his heart. 
 
 The next day Mr. Richmond brought a 
 physician to see Ernest, as renowned for his 
 truth and integrity as for his wisdom and 
 learning, and whose judgment in all critical 
 cases was considered infallible. 
 
 As he fixed his mild, penetrating gaze upon 
 the countenance of his child, Mr. Richmond's 
 eyes were directed toward him with a look 
 of eager inquiry. But he could gather noth- 
 ing from that immovable serenity of look 
 and manner, either of hope or fear, for he 
 was not one of those physicians who frighten 
 their patients by a long and grave counte- 
 nance ; he was too kind-hearted and politic to 
 allow his thoughts and conclusions to be 
 written upon his .face. So he smiled pleas- 
 antly upon the little invalid, chatted cheer- 
 fully with him a few minutes, and then left 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Richmond followed, leading him di- 
 rectly to the library. As soon as they had 
 entered he closed the door, and without 
 speaking motioned his visitor to a seat, and 
 then turning, fixed his eyes upon his counte- 
 nance, with a look expressive of the most in- 
 tense anxiety.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 223 
 
 The good doctor had seen that look too 
 often to misunderstand it. And though it 
 was among the most painful of his profes- 
 sional duties, he was too frank and straight- 
 forward to attempt to hide from him a truth 
 that he was aware that he must know some 
 time. So he said, " It would be cruel to 
 keep you in suspense, Mr. Richmond ; your 
 son is beyond the reach of medicine." 
 
 As these words fell upon Mr. Richmond's 
 ears, the self-control that he had labored so 
 hard to retain forsook him. A spasm of 
 pain convulsed his features, and his strong 
 frame shook like a reed in the tempest. 
 
 "O say not so, doctor!" he exclaimed. 
 " He is my only child. I have wealth, it shall 
 all be yours if you will only save his life !" 
 
 The physician shook his head sadly. 
 " Only God can do that," he said. " Look 
 not to me, but to him, sir." 
 
 Again that name smote upon his ears like 
 a heavy knell. Slowly, but surely, there 
 was closing around his mind the convic- 
 tion that there was a God ; but it brought 
 to his mind no holy and soothing thoughts. 
 He felt that he was in the hands of a pitiless, 
 inexorable Being, from whose arrows he 
 could not escape. He could not, would not
 
 224: ERNEST EICHMOND 
 
 see in this dispensation the pitying love of a 
 tender Father, but the fierce anger of an in- 
 censed Judge. For the first time he ac- 
 knowledged that the priceless gift, of whose 
 keeping he had proved himself so unworthy, 
 was about to be taken from him ; but with 
 this conviction, there arose in his heart a bit- 
 ter feeling of defiance and hostility toward 
 the power that dared to rob him of his 
 child. 
 
 He tried to repeat to himself the infidel 
 sentiments and doctrines so familiar to him 
 a few weeks before, but they died upon his 
 lips. He endeavored to summon to his aid 
 the powers of philosophy and reason, which 
 he had exalted so often above the power of 
 God, but broken reeds were they to lean 
 upon in a time like this. Against the prog- 
 ress of the convictions that were pressing 
 heavily upon him, he disputed the way inch 
 by inch. But the two-edged sword of the 
 Spirit was searching his soul, and at last he 
 yielded with a feeling of sullen despair. 
 There was a God ; he felt it, he knew it. O 
 how he wished that he could escape from 
 Him. But there came to his mind the words 
 that he had heard his father read so often in 
 the days of his boyhood : " Though we take
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 225 
 
 the wings of morning and flee unto the utter- 
 most parts of the sea, lo, Thou art there." 
 And he shuddered as he thought how vain 
 that wish was. 
 
 During all that long, gloomy night did 
 this wretched man tattle with these terrible 
 thoughts: alone, with no eye to pity him 
 save His whom he had rejected and despised, 
 but who was watching to catch the first 
 penitential sigh, waiting for the first relent- 
 ings in that proud heart, that he might "arise 
 and meet him while he was yet afar ofi ." 
 
 But in vain ; he folded his arms in sullen 
 defiance. No plea for mercy trembled upon 
 his lip. He was conquered, but not subdued ; 
 though driven from every stronghold, de- 
 feated at every point, he was a rebel still, 
 and refused to lay down his arms. 
 
 When Mr. Richmond came down the 
 next morning he opened the door of Ernest's 
 room to inquire how he passed the night. 
 As Ruth looked at him, she was startled at 
 his pale and haggard appearance. She knew 
 by that expression of hopeless agony that he 
 had given Ernest up, and she yearned to 
 speak a few words of comfort to him. But 
 what could she say? Words of mere hu- 
 man condolence were mockery to a grief
 
 226 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 like his, and what else could she offer 
 that he would receive ? 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Richmond received news 
 that Ernest was worse she returned home. 
 But, worn down by a constant round of ex- 
 citement, she was in no frame of body or of 
 mind to receive calmly the mournful intelli- 
 gence that awaited her. While Ernest was 
 in apparent health she thought very little 
 about him ; forgetful of the holy responsibili- 
 ties of maternity, she gave him up entirely 
 to the care of others ; but now that she was 
 about to lose him, she gave way to the 
 wildest expressions of grief. It was painful 
 to witness the effect of this unexpected blow 
 upon that undisciplined heart, which had no 
 resources in itself, no higher power to de- 
 pend upon in the gloom of this approaching 
 bereavement. 
 
 Ruth's school had closed, and at Mr. 
 Richmond's urgently expressed wish, joined 
 with that of his wife, she gladly consented 
 to devote the whole of her time to Ernest, 
 who now rarely left his bed. This was a 
 great relief to Mrs. Richmond, to whom the 
 gloom and confinement of a sick room were 
 intolerable, and whose nervous excitability 
 not only made her incapable of rendering
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEK. 227 
 
 any assistance, but disturbed the holy tran- 
 quillity of him whose feet were already upon 
 the threshold of another world, and who 
 appeared to be greatly troubled that " poor 
 mamma should grieve so for him." 
 
 Ruth had always been very careful in her 
 intercourse with Ernest, in all her allusions 
 to his father, not to undermine his filial love 
 and reverence, to say nothing calculated to 
 impair that reciprocal feeling of protection 
 and dependence which is the holiest charm 
 of such a relationship, and she was now 
 reaping its good result. She did not ap- 
 prove of the practice, so much in vogue at 
 the present day, of encouraging children to 
 teach their parents and elders, however 
 much they might stand in need of it, except- 
 ing, indeed, by the quiet, resistless influence 
 of a pure and holy life, believing that such a 
 course generally resulted in more harm than 
 good. 
 
 It was very fortunate for Ruth, in carrying 
 out these views, that there was so much in 
 Mr. Richmond's character to command the 
 respect of those who could not but see and 
 deplore his great error. So whea the 
 thought that his father was an infidel was 
 forced home to Ernest's heart, with the
 
 228 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 grief that it caused him there was accompa- 
 nied a feeling of wonder how his dear, good 
 father, who was so kind to him and every- 
 body else, could fail to be a Christian. But 
 as he drew nearer to his eternal home, his 
 mind seemed to be impressed with the con- 
 viction that some time there would be a 
 change in him. His trust in God was so 
 perfect, that the simple fact that he had 
 asked him that this might be, was sufficient 
 ground for this belief, and he rested upon it 
 with unwavering confidence. 
 
 As Ernest drew nearer to the portals of 
 heaven, his mind became so absorbed by 
 divine things that he forgot his father's 
 repugnance to the subject of religion. But 
 all that he said was spoken so unconsciously, 
 and with so little effort, that it carried double 
 weight to the heart of him who, though he 
 listened with so much apparent indifference, 
 never forgot a word that fell from his 
 lips. 
 
 Ernest had had no Bible since his father 
 had taken his books from him, but somewhere 
 he had picked up a leaf from Revelations, 
 containing a description of the new Jerusa- 
 lem. This torn and crumpled leaf was his 
 constant companion; he read it over and
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 229 
 
 over, and every time it had a new meaning, 
 and seemed to afford him a fresh delight. 
 
 One day Mr. Richmond opened the door 
 of Ernest's room and approached the bed 
 where he was reclining, propped up by pil- 
 lows. One hand, almost waxen in its trans- 
 parency, supported the head, which with its 
 wealth of curls looked almost too heavy for 
 the slender neck ; the other held that little 
 bit of torn paper. Ernest's eyes were fixed 
 intently upon it, while his lips were parted 
 with a bright and happy smile. 
 
 "You are looking very happy, Ernest," 
 said his father. 
 
 Ernest laid the leaf down upon the bed, 
 and raised his eyes serenely to his father's 
 face. " I am very happy, dear papa," he re- 
 plied. "There is not in the wide world a 
 happier boy than I." 
 
 A half sigh struggled up to Mr. Rich- 
 mond's lips. What a contrast this perfect 
 peace was to the wild unrest in his own 
 soul. As this thought passed through his 
 mind, he took up, half mechanically, the 
 paper that Ernest was reading when he 
 came in. 
 
 As he did so Ernest looked troubled, and 
 laying his hand upon his father's arm, he said,
 
 230 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 "Dear papa, do not take it from me." 
 
 The sharpest reproach could not have 
 pierced Mr. Richmond's heart like these 
 simple words, so tremulously and softly 
 spoken. 
 
 " Do you think that I would be unkind to 
 you, Ernest?" he said. 
 
 Ernest saw in a moment that he had 
 wounded his father's feelings, and he re- 
 turned quickly: 
 
 " You could not be unkind, papa ; only I 
 know that we think differently in regard to 
 some things, and I was afraid that you 
 would think it was best." 
 
 Mr. Richmond seated himself by the bed, 
 and lifting Ernest's head from the pillow laid 
 it upon his bosom. "My poor child!" he 
 exclaimed involuntarily, as he thought how 
 uncomplainingly he had borne what was to 
 him such a serious deprivation. 
 
 As his father said this, ^Ernest's counte- 
 nance grew radiant with the holy enthusiasm 
 that seemed almost like inspiration, and which 
 gave a singular elevation to his thoughts and 
 language. " How can you call me poor, pa- 
 pa?" he exclaimed. "I, who shall so soon 
 walk the golden streets of the new Jerusa- 
 lem ; one of that happy throng ' whose gar-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 231 
 
 merits are made white in the blood of the 
 Lamb !' The king upon his throne is not 
 half so rich as I !" 
 
 For a moment Mr. Richmond held him 
 closely to his heart, as though he feared to 
 let him go, lest he should lose him ; and 
 then, as if he had formed some sudden de- 
 termination, he laid him back upon the pil- 
 low, and left the room. 
 
 He went directly to a bookstore. The 
 proprietor, who Avas acquainted with him by 
 reputation, was somewhat surprised to see 
 the well-known free-thinker enter his shop 
 and inquire for Bibles. But too well-bred 
 to manifest it, he displayed with his usual 
 urbanity his numerous assortment. 
 
 Mr. Richmond selected a beautiful one, 
 bound in velvet and gold, and taking the 
 package that contained it returned home. 
 Meeting Ruth in the hall, he handed it to 
 her, requesting her to give it to Ernest. 
 
 He did not see Ernest again until evening. 
 When he entered the room he lay with his 
 eyes closed, apparently sleeping; but he 
 soon opened them, and perceiving that his 
 father was standing by the bed, he looked 
 up into his face and smiled. "You made 
 ine very happy to-day, papa," he said, plae- 
 15
 
 232 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 
 
 ing his hand upon the Bible that was lying 
 by his side. 
 
 In spite of all his efforts, Mr. Richmond's 
 voice grew husky as he said, " I am glad if I 
 have given you any pleasure, Ernest." 
 
 Ernest regarded his father attentively, with 
 a clear, penetrating gaze that seemed to 
 search his very soul. " You look unhappy, 
 papa," he said. " Has anything occurred to 
 trouble you ?" 
 
 The inquiry sprang to Mr. Richmond's 
 lip, How was it possible for him to feel other- 
 wise? But he forbore to speak it, merely 
 saying, "Nothing new has occurred, my 
 child." 
 
 The quick sympathies of Ernest, which at 
 times seemed almost like intuition, were in- 
 tensified by his approaching dissolution. He 
 saw that his father was suffering, and that it 
 proceeded from some deeper cause than the 
 loss he was about to sustain. He wanted to 
 comfort him, but did not know how. 
 
 " There is nothing that can give the soul 
 such perfect peace as this book, papa," he 
 said at last, laying his hand upon the Bible, 
 and lifting his eyes with a look that seemed 
 to say that he had said something that 
 could not be denied.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 233 
 
 To this his father made no reply, and in a 
 few minutes Ernest closed his eyes and 
 seemed to slumber. 
 
 For nearly two hours Mr. Richmond sat 
 by Ernest, holding his hand in his, and watch- 
 ing his faint breathing. The contraction of 
 the brow, and the rigid lines around the 
 mouth, showed how much he suffered, but 
 he gave no other token of it ; the thoughts 
 that were busy in his heart were known only 
 to God.
 
 234 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PASSING OVER THE DARK RIVER. 
 
 DURING the earlier stages of his sickness 
 Ernest suffered little pain, or if he did he did 
 not manifest it, for he- rarely complained. 
 But a few days before he died there seemed 
 to be some obstruction upon the chest, 
 and his efforts to breathe were agonizing 
 to the hearts that loved him, though he 
 bore it with unwavering cheerfulness. He 
 had intervals of rest, howeiter, during which 
 he was able to converse with those around 
 him. 
 
 During one of these seasons his father and 
 mother were present, and he heard the latter 
 address the former in words expressive of 
 reproach for his infidel sentiments ; a style 
 of conversation in which Mrs. Richmond was 
 very apt to indulge, though she gave so little 
 evidence herself that her heart was right 
 toward God. 
 
 Though spoken very low, they reached the 
 cars supernaturally quickened to every sound, 
 and turning to his mother, Ernest said ab-
 
 
 Ernest's Death-bed.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 237 
 
 ruptly, " Do you believe in the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, mamma?" 
 
 Mrs. Richmond looked astonished, almost 
 indignant, at this question. "To be sure I 
 do," she replied. " What made you ask me 
 that question ?" 
 
 "Nothing, mamma, only you never talk 
 about him as though you loved him any." 
 
 If Mrs. Richmond's heart had not been 
 completely crusted over by worldly pride, 
 these words would have opened her eyes to 
 the fact that, living directly contrary to his 
 teachings, she was far more culpable than 
 those who do not believe in him. As it was, 
 a glimmer of the truth seemed to reach her, 
 for she looked uneasy as she said, 
 
 " I hope that I am a Christian, Ernest." 
 
 Ernest looked at his mother as she said 
 this. It was evident to him that she did not 
 love the Saviour ; yet to his loving, reveren- 
 tial spirit it seemed so incomprehensible that 
 any one could believe in Christ and not love 
 him, that he could not understand it. 
 
 After lying quite still for a little while, he 
 said : 
 
 "I shall soon leave you, mamma, yet I am 
 very happy ; ' for I am going to your Father 
 and my Father, to your God and my God.'
 
 238 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 In the beautiful home that he has prepared 
 for those who love him I shall expect to see 
 you some day, mamma, and you must not 
 disappoint me." 
 
 Though Mrs. Richmond knew that Ernest 
 must die, she could not bear the slightest 
 allusion to it. She immediately burst into 
 such a passion of tears and sobs as so greatly 
 to distress Ernest that Mr. Richmond, plac- 
 ing his arm around his wife, drew her as 
 quickly as possible from the room. 
 
 For some time Ernest appeared to be 
 greatly agitated. Ruth, who could not bear 
 to see him look so troubled, bent over him, 
 striving by words and caresses to restore 
 him to his wonted tranquillity. 
 
 " My darling," she said, softly smoothing 
 the hair from his forehead, " God will make 
 all these things right if you only trust him." 
 
 " I know it, little mother ; but it troubles 
 me to think that I cannot make them under- 
 stand me." 
 
 " But, Ernest, you have a Friend who not 
 only understands all things, but can do all 
 things. Can you not cast your burden on 
 him ?" 
 
 Ernest smiled through his falling tears. 
 
 "Dear Ruthy," he said, " you always know
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 239 
 
 how to comfort me. But do you really 
 believe that God does whatever we ask him 
 to do?" 
 
 " I believe, Ernest, that God answers the 
 prayers of all his children who approach him 
 in the right spirit, though not always in the 
 way they expect him to. It is our happy 
 privilege to make known to him all our 
 wants and sorrows, as to a loving and tender 
 father ; it is his prerogative to grant or to 
 deny, as it seems good in his sight. He who 
 sees the end as we see the beginning, can 
 do a great deal better for us than we can 
 do by ourselves. Even Christ, our perfect 
 pattern, said, " Thy will be done ;" " not 
 my will but thine." 
 
 As Ernest listened, a serene and tranquil 
 expression gradually settled over every feat- 
 ure. " Not my will, but thine," he said, 
 raising his eyes upward. 
 
 Ruth kissed his cheek, the tears springing 
 to her eyes as she thought how difficult it 
 was for her to say that in reference to him. 
 
 " I am not fit to teach you, Ernest," she 
 said. " But don't talk any more now, but 
 shut your eyes, and see if you cannot sleep a 
 little." 
 
 Ernest did as she told him, and was soon
 
 240 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 quietly sleeping. As Ruth looked upon him 
 she saw that a change had come over him. 
 He could scarcely have looked more white 
 and deathly had he been lying in his coffin ; 
 and several times she bent her head to the 
 pillow, to discover by his breathing if he was 
 indeed living. 
 
 When Ei'nest awoke, Thomas Conway 
 was in the room. As soon as he perceived 
 him he smiled, and motioned him to come 
 nearer. 
 
 " I have been dreaming of that happy 
 home to which I am going," he said, as the 
 boy came to the bedside. "And O it is 
 more beautiful than I have words to tell 
 you ! I am going there very soon, Tommy." 
 
 The poor boy struggled bravely against 
 the sobs that shook his frame, but in vain ; 
 they sounded distinctly through that quiet 
 chamber, and Ruth came forward to tako 
 him from the room. 
 
 " Dear Ruthy," pleaded Ernest, " let him 
 stay, I have something to say to him, and 
 there is no time to lose." 
 
 Ruth could not withstand that look, and 
 drew back, though she feared that he was 
 going beyond his strength. 
 
 Ernest looked compassionately at the still
 
 AXD HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 241 
 
 weeping boy, and was silent for a moment, 
 as though he was trying to think of some- 
 thing to comfort him. 
 
 " If you loved me you would rejoice," he 
 said at last, unconsciously using the lan- 
 guage of Scripture, " because I go to my Fa- 
 ther." 
 
 Thomas, unable to speak, made no reply. 
 
 "I am going to give you something to 
 keep in memory of me. It is the most pre- 
 cious thing that I have, this book, Tommy," 
 resumed Ernest, laying his little wasted hand 
 upon the Bible, that was in its usual place 
 by his pillow. " If you will follow its teach- 
 ings, it will make your dying bed as soft 
 and easy as it has made mine to-day. If 
 you will choose Him, of whom it speaks, to 
 be your friend and guide, our parting will 
 not be forever. Wont you try to do this, 
 Tommy ?" 
 
 In a voice almost inarticulate, Thomas 
 gave the required promise. 
 
 Faint and exhausted, Ernest closed his 
 eyes ; and Thomas, unable to control his 
 feelings, and unwilling to disturb him, crept 
 softly from the room. 
 
 For nearly an hour Ernest lay without 
 speaking ; he then inquired for his father.
 
 242 ERNEST KICHMOND 
 
 Mr. Richmond came, and bent tenderly 
 over his pillow. 
 
 "Take me up in your arms, papa," said 
 Ernest, "so that I can breathe easier. I 
 want to speak to you." 
 
 As his father raised him up, Ernest twined 
 his arms feebly around his neck. 
 
 " Dear papa," he said, " I have two re- 
 quests to make; I am sure that you will 
 grant them." 
 
 Mr. Richmond was deeply affected. 
 
 " My precious child, if it is a possible 
 thing I certainly will," he said. 
 
 " You will have no little boy when I am 
 gone." 
 
 It was impossible for Mr. Richmond to 
 stifle the moan that the anguish caused by 
 these unexpected words wrung from his lips. 
 
 Ernest looked troubled. 
 
 " Forgive me, papa," he said. " I did not 
 mean to pain you. I was thinking of Tom- 
 my, poor Tommy, who has such a bad home, 
 and no one to love or care for him. I wish 
 that you would let him take my place, 
 papa." 
 
 "No one can take your place to me, 
 Ernest." 
 
 " I know that, papa. I don't expect him,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 243 
 
 to take my place in your heart, exactly ; at 
 least not now. But I want you to clothe 
 him, and send him to school, and take care 
 of him until he is able to take care of him- 
 self. Wont you do that, papa?" 
 
 " Yes, Ernest, I think that I can promise 
 you that I will do that, and very gladly." 
 
 " But, papa, I want Tommy to grow up a 
 good man, a Christian man." 
 
 " I understand you, Ernest ; everything 
 shall be as you wish." 
 
 Ernest looked satisfied, and yet there ap- 
 peared to be something else on his mind. 
 His father, perceiving this, said, " You told 
 me that you had two requests, Ernest. 
 What is the other ?" ' 
 
 Ernest was silent, turning such a wishful, 
 imploring look upon his father that he 
 shrank before it. " My child," he said, 
 " tell papa what it is that you want. If it 
 is within the bounds of possibility it shall 
 be done; your lightest wish shall be held 
 sacred." 
 
 " It is but a little thing, papa ; you can 
 do it, and I know you will, if it is only be- 
 cause I ask you. You know that there is 
 something very near to me, about which we 
 never talk. I cannot tell you why I believe
 
 244 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 in God, and in the Bible ; I only know that 
 I do believe, and that this belief makes me 
 very happy. I am but a little ignorant boy, 
 and capnot be expected to teach you, who 
 are so much older and wiser than I. All 
 that I ask of you is that you will read the 
 Bible, and read it carefully. If you will only 
 do this, God will do the rest. I know that 
 you will believe, you cannot help it ! Prom- 
 ise me that you will do this, papa ; I cannot 
 die in peace unless you do." 
 
 " I promise, Ernest." 
 
 The triumphant look that sat upon the 
 countenance of the dying boy was in strik- 
 ing contrast to the deathly pallor that over- 
 spread every feature. 
 
 " Now my work is done !" he said, raising 
 his eyes upward. "I am ready now ! I know 
 that I shall meet you again. O papa! the 
 light, the glory " 
 
 Here the words died upon his tongue ; his 
 eyes closed, and he lay motionless in his 
 father's arms. 
 
 Mr. Richmond laid him back upon the pil- 
 low, and sprang to the door to summon as- 
 sistance. 
 
 "He is dying!" he said to Ruth as she 
 entered the room. And so it seemed ; but
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 245 
 
 it was not death. He soon revived so as to 
 recognize those around him. 
 
 The first persons that he noticed were his 
 father and Thomas, who were standing to- 
 gether by his bed. He looked at them both 
 with an expression of unutterable love, and 
 then making a strong effort, took the hand 
 of Thomas and placed it in his father's, giv- 
 ing the latter an appealing look that he could 
 not fail to understand. 
 
 Mr. Richmond could not reject that hand; 
 his fingers closed over it with a convulsive 
 clasp. Yet as he looked upon the boy at his 
 side, so strong and full of life, and then upon 
 his dying child, the child of so much prom- 
 ise, of so many hopes, a bitter feeling came 
 over him that he strove in vain to repress. 
 
 It may be that Ernest noticed it, for he 
 said, 
 
 " Tommy has been very kind to me, papa ; 
 you will love him for that when I am gone ?" 
 
 "I will love all who have been kind to 
 you, Ernest." 
 
 The eyes of the dying child kindled ; the 
 high and holy thoughts which were strug- 
 gling for utterance overpowered, for a mo- 
 ment, the mortal weakness that was upon him. 
 
 " And yet there is One," he said in clear
 
 2-i6 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 and thrilling tones that were never forgotten 
 by those who heard them, " who has been 
 kinder to me than any earthly friend can be, 
 whom you have not loved, papa !" 
 
 Mr. Richmond made no reply. What 
 could he say ? He sat perfectly motionless, 
 with his head bowed upon his hands. There 
 was a time when all these holy sayings came 
 back to him ; but now there was room for 
 only one thought in his heart, and that was 
 the agonizing one that his child, his only 
 child, was dying. 
 
 Ruth came to the bedside to give him some 
 restorative. When she took it from his lips 
 he said : 
 
 " Dear Ruthy, don't you remember what 
 a bad, unhappy boy I was once ? So igno- 
 rant that I did not know even the name of 
 God. Now I shall soon be like an angel, a 
 bright and happy angel, before his throne 
 forever. There are other children almost as 
 ignorant as I was ; teach them, little mother, 
 what you have taught me, that nothing can 
 make us so happy, in life and in death, as 
 the love of Christ." 
 
 He then sank into a heavy stupor, from 
 which it was thought that he would not 
 arouse again.
 
 AND UIS LITTLE MOTHER. 247 
 
 Ruth never left him a moment, hoping to 
 catch a parting word or glance. She was 
 not disappointed. A few minutes before he 
 died he opened his eyes, and smiled upon 
 her as she bent over him. She saw that the 
 spirit was passing. 
 
 " Ernest, dear child," she said, " speak to 
 me if you can ; if it is only one word." 
 
 The light from the Eternal City, to which 
 he was so near, shone full upon the counte- 
 nance of the dying boy, giving it a sublime 
 and triumphant expression that no words 
 can describe. He raised his eyes upward. 
 
 "I am almost home!" he cried. 
 
 Then there crept slowly over every feature 
 that holy hush, that still and solemn look, 
 that comes to us but once ! But the happy 
 smile still lingered around the mouth. 
 
 " Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal 
 The signet-ring of heaven."
 
 248 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 PASSING FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE. 
 
 THE holy calm upon the countenance of 
 the dead was in strange contrast to the sor- 
 row and consternation of the living. Mr. 
 Richmond immediately withdrew to his 
 room, denying himself to every one ; while 
 Mrs. Richmond was so much overcome that 
 she was carried fainting to her chamber. So 
 no one was left but Ruth and the hired nurse 
 to perform the last sad office. 
 
 With her own hands Ruth composed his 
 limbs to their last rest, and robed him for 
 the grave. She drew the long, heavy lashes 
 down over the eyes, and brushed out, for the 
 last time, the beautiful hair, that looked like 
 spun gold. 
 
 When all was over, a sense of exhaustion 
 and weariness oppressed her that she could 
 not longer withstand ; and going to her 
 room she threw herself upon the bed, and 
 sank into a heavy slumber. 
 . When Ruth awoke, the gray dawn was 
 just peeping through the shutters. She
 
 AXD flIS LITTLE MOTHER. 249 
 
 immediately sprang from the bed, with the 
 involuntary feeling that Ernest would be 
 wanting her. Then came the thought that 
 he, whose home was with the angels, needed 
 her friendly offices no longer, bringing with 
 it such a sense of pain and desolation. 
 
 In the window-seat was a rose-bush. Ern- 
 est had given it to Ruth when it was but a 
 slip, and they had tended it together. Now, 
 for the first time, it was just bursting into 
 bloom. She cut off some of the half-opened 
 buds, and taking them in her hand, proceed- 
 ed to the room where he lay. 
 
 There is something solemn in the presence 
 of t/he dead, and for a moment Ruth stood 
 motionless beside the white drapery that 
 concealed him from her view. She then 
 lifted it with reverential tenderness from the 
 head. As she looked upon him there came 
 into her mind the words of our Saviour, 
 " she is not dead, but sleepeth." But as she 
 pressed her lips to his forehead, its icy chill 
 told her that it was the sleep from which no 
 earthly morn would arouse him. 
 
 As she placed the rose-buds in his hands, 
 and laid them around his pillow, she strove 
 to calm the Feelings that were fast overpow- 
 ering her by thinking of the immortal flow- 
 16
 
 250 ERNEST HICIIMOND 
 
 ers among which his footsteps were straying, 
 and all the light and glory that surrounded 
 him. But in vain ; her tears fell fast. Then 
 came the soothing thought, that He who 
 wept at the grave of Lazarus would not 
 frown upon her grief, and sinking upon her 
 knees she wept unrestrainedly. 
 
 She was aroused by a light touch upon 
 her head. She rose to her feet, and saw that 
 Mr. Richmond was standing by her. 
 
 "Poor child!" he said, "you too loved 
 him." 
 
 Then turning, he fixed his eyes upon that 
 still, sweet countenance, which looked as 
 though it was carved in marble, seemingly 
 forgetful of her presence. 
 
 Unwilling to intrude upon his grief, Ruth 
 was about to leave the room, when he sud- 
 denly stretched out his hands to her, saying, 
 
 " Your prophecy has come to pass ! Have 
 you no word of comfort for me, now that I 
 am left childless and desolate ?" 
 
 The dreary and hopeless look which ac- 
 companied these words would have touched 
 any heart of ordinary sensibility, and it was 
 some moments before Ruth's emotion would 
 allow her to speak. At last she said, 
 
 "I cannot comfort you, Mr. Richmond;
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 251 
 
 there is only One who can do that. Why, 
 O why will you reject him ?" 
 
 " He has taken my boy from me !" was 
 the almost fierce reply. 
 
 "But only to draw the father to Him," 
 said Ruth gently. 
 
 Mr. Richmond turned his head away, with 
 an impatient gesture. This saying was too 
 hard for him ; he could not bear it. 
 
 As Ruth slowly and sadly left the room, 
 a ray of hope darted through her mind ; he 
 had, though unconsciously, acknowledged 
 what he had so long denied, the existence of 
 God. 
 
 Calmly and tearlessly Mr. Richmond went 
 through with the trying ordeal of consigning 
 to the grave his only remaining child. He 
 was laid beside his other children ; though 
 unlike them, with whom he made a show of 
 disregarding the claims and offices of Chris- 
 tianity, he was interred with appropriate re- 
 ligious services, conducted by one of the 
 resident clergymen, who had called several 
 times to see Ernest during his sickness. 
 
 It was a singular sight to his fellow- 
 townsmen to see the well-known infidel 
 standing with uncovered head before the 
 open grave of his child, while the clergy
 
 252 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 man, in accordance with the wish of the 
 deceased, made a brief but impressive prayer. 
 Near its conclusion, the minister besought 
 the Almighty "to look with compassion 
 upon the afflicted father, and speak peace to 
 his troubled soul." But Mr. Richmond gave 
 no intimation either of dissent or approval ; 
 that stern, impassible countenance was no 
 mirror to the thoughts that were busy in his 
 heart. 
 
 Immediately after the funeral, Mr. Rich- 
 mond busied himself in carrying out every 
 wish that Ernest had expressed to him ; and 
 even those that he could only guess, were 
 carefully complied with. He purchased 
 Thomas Conway's time of his father with a 
 liberal sum, supplied him with neat and suit- 
 able clothing, and sent him to school. So 
 sacred did he hold all that his dead boy had 
 said to him, that he was careful to place him 
 under the care of a man eminent for his 
 piety, and to see that he boarded in a Chris- 
 tian family. 
 
 Yet there was one wish that had not, as 
 yet, been complied with. This omission 
 weighed heavily upon his mind one night as 
 h entered his library, after he had been to 
 the depot to see Thomas start for the school
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 253 
 
 he had selected for him, which was in an 
 adjoining town. 
 
 In the secret chamber of his soul, Albert 
 Richmond acknowledged the existence of 
 some overruling power, that had met him at 
 every point, and defeated his most cherished 
 plans, and whom it was useless to resist ; 
 but it had aroused only a spirit of hatred 
 and defiance. It was unfortunate for him, 
 at this time, that all his recollections of 
 Scripture were of its threatenings, and de- 
 nunciations against sin ; for from the gloomy 
 views that his father had entertained, his 
 readings had been mostly from the Old 
 Testament, and these generally consisted of 
 portions which dwelt particularly upon the 
 wrath of God toward his rebellious children. 
 There were no soothing recollections of that 
 kind and gracious Being who " pities us, even 
 as a father pitieth his children," to melt his 
 heart into penitence and love. 
 
 One passage in particular was uppermost 
 in his mind. " I also will laugh at your 
 calamity, and mock when your fear cometh." 
 And with his mind warped and distorted by 
 the influences of these early teachings, and 
 the life he had led since, he felt in the depths 
 of his anguished spirit that He, whose com-
 
 254 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 passionate heart was so full of tenderness 
 toward his rebellious son, did both. 
 
 With these feelings, it will be readily sup- 
 posed that the recollection of his promise 
 brought no very pleasing reflections ; but 
 the circumstances under which it was made 
 rendered it sacred in his eyes, and he determ- 
 ined, at whatever cost to his feelings, that 
 he would redeem it, and at once. 
 
 Jlis elegant and spacious library contained 
 many valuable and important works; but 
 there was no Bible among them, as he well 
 knew. But he could procure one, and would 
 that very night. 
 
 Just as he was leaving the house for that 
 purpose he suddenly recollected that he 
 had a Bible, the one that his sister had given 
 him just before she died. It was a holy 
 thing to him, because it was her gift; and 
 he had put it away with some other me- 
 mentoes, and had not thought of it, or looked 
 at it since. 
 
 Upon opening the box that contained it, 
 the first thing that his eye fell upon was a 
 long shining ringlet. As he laid it beside a 
 shorter curl, that he had severed from the 
 head of Ernest when he lay in his coffin, he 
 Was surprised to see how alike they were in
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 255 
 
 color and texture. Then, as they both rose 
 up before his mental vision, he thought how 
 much they resembled each other in form and 
 disposition, and with reverential tenderness 
 he twined them together, and laid them 
 carefully aside in one corner of the box. He 
 then took up the Bible and opened it. It 
 was originally his mother's; her maiden 
 name was upon one of the blank leaves. 
 Beneath it was the name of his sister. As 
 he looked upon them, how many tender 
 recollections arose in his bosom ! 
 
 With a softened and subdued look upon 
 his countenance that it had not worn for 
 many a day, he turned the leaves slowly 
 over, reading here and there a passage ; but 
 his mind was too much occupied to receive 
 from them any tangible meaning. 
 
 As he was thus engaged, a folded paper 
 fluttered out from between the leaves and 
 fell to the floor. Mr. Richmond did not 
 observe it; he had just commenced to read 
 the parable of the prodigal son, whose pathos 
 and beauty is readily acknowledged, even by 
 those who see in it no deeper and holier 
 meaning. He was not yet prepared to 
 receive it in its true sense, yet it could not 
 fail to have some effect upon a nature which,
 
 256 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 with all its manliness and strength of char- 
 acter, was highly poetical, and almost 
 womanly in its tenderness. 
 
 It presented the Deity in quite a different 
 light, and there was a thoughtful look in his 
 eyes, as at its conclusion he raised them 
 from the page. As he did so they fell upon 
 the paper that lay at his feet. He picked it 
 up. It was yellow, and discolored with age. 
 He perceived that it was partly covered 
 with writing, and opened it. As his eyes 
 fell upon the first line the weary and ab- 
 stracted look vanished from his countenance, 
 giving place to an expression of deep and 
 absorbing interest. He read it through 
 twice. Then laying it down, deep and con- 
 vulsive sobs burst from his bosom, and tears 
 fell from his eyes, like the big and heavy 
 drops of rain which sometimes precedes the 
 approach of some terrible storm. 
 
 There was something fearful in the con- 
 flict that followed. It seemed as if all the 
 powers of darkness had combined to resist 
 the inroad of the light, that was breaking in 
 upon his mind on every side. But in vain ; 
 the struggle, though violent, was very brief, 
 and resulted in their eternal overthrow. 
 
 With an eager look, he turned again to
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 257 
 
 the inspired volume, that was lying open 
 before him. As he reread that beautiful 
 parable the scales fell from his blinded eyes, 
 the heavy clouds that had so long obscured 
 them rolled away from his mental vision. 
 Each word had a new and tender meaning. 
 It seemed to his suddenly-awakened mind 
 that it was written expressly for him, that it 
 spoke directly to him ; and at its conclu- 
 sion these words burst from his lips: "I will 
 arise and go to my Father" 
 
 For the first time since the days of his 
 boyhood, that stubborn knee was bowed in 
 prayer. And did He whom he had so long 
 rejected and denied wait to receive him? 
 Nay, he saw him while he was yet afar off, 
 and arose and met him by the way. And 
 as there fell brokenly from his lips the 
 acknowledgement "that he had sinned be- 
 fore heaven and in his sight, and was not 
 worthy to be called his son," he took him 
 into the arms of his tender and compassion- 
 ate love, saying to his troubled soul so 
 clearly and distinctly, that in the elevation 
 of his feelings they sounded audibly in his 
 ears, " Son, be of good cheer ; thy sins, 
 which are many, are all forgiven thee." 
 
 O blessed assurance ! Had the sun burst
 
 258 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 forth from the starless blackness of a mid- 
 night sky, it would not have wrought a 
 more startling change in the face of nature 
 than did those words upon that dark and 
 tortured soul. O the ineffable peace, the 
 holy joy that flowed in upon hisheart! What 
 pen can describe it ? 
 
 In relating his experience some years 
 after, he said " that it seemed to him that 
 the light with which God flooded his soul 
 gave to that dimly-lighted room the bright- 
 ness of noonday." 
 
 Let us now examine the paper, the peru- 
 sal of which seemed to have affected Mr. 
 Richmond so strongly. The words it con- 
 tained were evidently traced by a feeble, 
 tremulous hand, and ran thus : 
 
 "MY BELOVED AND ONLY BROTHER: It 
 
 is not probable that these lines will reach 
 you until all that is earthly of me will be 
 laid away in 'the house appointed for all 
 the living.' Very earnestly have I prayed 
 that I might be permitted to see you, if 
 only for a few moments, for I have some- 
 thing on my mind to say to you; but God 
 has not as yet seen fit to grant that prayer, 
 and my life is ebbing fast.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 259 
 
 "You must not cherish hard feelings 
 toward our dear father for not acquainting 
 you with my condition. I, that can read 
 his heart better than either of his other 
 children, know that it cost him a severe 
 pang to deny the prayer of his dying daugh- 
 ter ; but he felt that in keeping us apart, he 
 was but performing the duty of a Christian 
 father ; that in yielding he would have been 
 guilty of an unpardonable weakness, expos- 
 ing him to the just wrath of God. 
 
 " Forgive me, dear brother, if, in the last 
 words that I shall speak to you, I seem to re- 
 proach you ; but I cannot feel, in regard to 
 this unhappy estrangement, that you have 
 been wholly blameless. Our father was 
 harsh and severe in his ideas of family disci- 
 pline, yet I firmly believe that in all the 
 measures that he has taken in regard to you 
 that he has had your best good in view. If 
 he had a too high idea of his authority as a 
 father, and his divine right to the reverence 
 and obedience of his children, you were ill 
 inclined to give to him the deference that 
 was uis just due. You wounded him hi a 
 most tender point,, ran counter to his most 
 deeply-rooted prejudices; and when he re- 
 monstrated with you, though I own with
 
 260 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 undue harshness, instead of trying to soften 
 his anger, you openly defied him, avowing 
 sentiments the most abhorrent to his feelings. 
 
 "Albert, dear brother, do not think, 
 because I speak thus, that I have failed to 
 appreciate the frequent injustice that has 
 been done you from your boyhood, or that I 
 have ceased to deplore and condemn the 
 harshness and severity that has banished 
 you from your home. My heart aches when 
 I think that if he had dealt less harshly 
 with you ; if he had made some allowance 
 for your youth, and the impetuosity of your 
 nature; if he had pointed out to you, kindly 
 and gently, the errors into which you had 
 fallen, all this sorrow might have been 
 spared us. 
 
 " But alas for our poor father ! he knows 
 nothing of the influence of love upon the 
 human heart ; has no faith in * that charity 
 that suffereth long, and is kind.' He feels 
 that if he did less than banish and disown 
 you, he would not only be unjust to his 
 other children, but share in the guilt of your 
 heresy, and prove traitor to the cause that 
 he serves with such faithful but mistaken 
 zeal. 
 
 " Yet I am certain that he loves you, and
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 261 
 
 that the course you have taken is a great 
 grief to him. For some time after you left 
 us he used always to mention your name in. 
 his prayers, and often have I heard his voice 
 falter as he did so. It was not until after 
 your public avowal of infidelity that he ceased 
 to do this. Then he seemed to give you up, 
 to mourn you as one worse than dead, and 
 forbade any of us to mention your name in 
 his hearing. I never shall forget his look 
 when brother John handed him a printed 
 copy of your first address. And here I feel 
 that I ought to tell you, if it had not been 
 for John's influence over him father never 
 would have proceeded to such extreme meas- 
 ures. He always represented all you said 
 and did in its worst light to him, and art- 
 fully, and in many ways, has endeavored to 
 turn his heart against you. His object is to 
 obtain possession of the homestead and the 
 lands adjoining it, and I fear that he will 
 succeed, for father is completely deceived 
 by him, and already talks of giving up to 
 him, at no very distant day, the control of 
 his whole property. 
 
 "It is of little moment to me, for mine 
 will soon be ' the house not made with 
 hands ;' but I cannot bear the thought that
 
 262 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 you should be thus wronged out of your in- 
 heritance, and defrauded of that holy thing, 
 a father's blessing. God forgive John for 
 this most unnatural conduct, and soften his 
 hard heart. How will he answer for it when 
 he goes up before the Judge of all the earth, 
 especially for the still greater guilt of bring- 
 ing so much disgrace upon the cause that ho 
 professes to honor ? 
 
 " My brother, I am standing upon the con- 
 fines of another world. Already the vail 
 that hides it from our view is being lifted 
 from my eyes. Listen to me, for these are 
 the last words that I shall speak to you on 
 earth. There is One, whose claims upon you 
 are infinitely higher than those of the kindest 
 earthly parent, against whom you are in open 
 rebellion ; return to him, for he is your Fa- 
 ther and your God. There is another, who 
 laid down his life for your sake, but whom 
 you have rejected and despised ; flee to him, 
 for he is your Saviour and your Redeemer. 
 
 " I am unskilled in the art of logic, and know 
 not by what strange and subtile chain of rea- 
 soning you have been led to embrace such a 
 dark and cheerless faith. But look abroad 
 upon the face of nature, and say if it does 
 not speak, in a thousand voices, of some ere-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 
 
 ating and sustaining power. Then pause, and 
 question the Spirit that came from Him, and 
 must return to Him, and it will tell you that 
 there is a God ! 
 
 "It has been a great misfortune to you 
 that your early associations of religion were 
 of such a gloomy character ; but you have 
 made a sad mistake if you suppose that it 
 was the religion of Christ that made the at- 
 mosphere of our home so cold and cheerless. 
 It was rather the absence of its most vital 
 principle, love: that love which led him to 
 lay down his life for his enemies, to forgive 
 his murderers with his dying breath. O my 
 brother ! what love is there like that, and 
 can you longer refuse to yield to its holy in- 
 fluence ? Our poor father has ever regulated 
 his life and feelings more by the Old Testa- 
 ment than the New ; forgetting that Christ 
 came to do that away, and to establish a 
 more perfect law. God open his eyes to a 
 higher and a holier faith, that he may be 
 able to rejoice more in his love than in his 
 wrath, which he has told us 'is but for a 
 moment, while his mercy endureth forever.' 
 
 "Brother of my heart, companion of my 
 childhood ! if there is any sacredness in my 
 dying prayers, any weight in my dying testi-
 
 26-i ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 mony, let them appeal to you now. Fling 
 from you the soul-destroying creed that has 
 so darkened and perverted your heart. Son 
 of my sainted mother, by the memory of her 
 love I conjure you not to make vain the 
 prayers that trembled upon her lips in the 
 last struggle. Let her God be your God 
 
 Here it broke suddenly off, as if the emo- 
 tion of the writer overpowered her. But ns 
 no name was attached to it, it was evidently 
 unfinished. The date showed that it was 
 written the day before her death, which the 
 reader will remember was prematurely hast- 
 ened. 
 
 For fteen years this letter had laid be- 
 tween the leaves of that Bible, unknown to 
 him for whom it was intended. For fifteen 
 years the seed that it contained had lain dor- 
 mant, which was now springing up and bear- 
 ing such precious fruit. 
 
 How true it is, that " God's thoughts 
 are not our thoughts, nor his ways our 
 ways; that as the heavens are higher than 
 the earth, so are his ways higher than our 
 ways, and his thoughts than our thoughts."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ME. RICHMOND'S PUBLIC AVOWAL OF HIS 
 FAITH IN CHRIST. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Richmond left his room the 
 next morning he went out into the garden. 
 It was a beautiful spring morning; the air 
 was soft and balmy, the sky clear and cloud- 
 less, while everything around was bursting 
 into life and beauty, yet it was not more 
 beautiful than many that had preceded it. 
 But to Mr. Richmond's eyes the face of na- 
 ture seemed to wear a new aspect ; the light 
 and joy that filled his soul invested every- 
 thing upon which they rested with a halo of 
 glory. He could now gaze out upon the 
 stately woods, the hills and meadows, clad 
 in their soft vernal robe, saying, with a full 
 heart, "My Father made them all!" 
 
 As he stood there he caught a glimpse of 
 Ruth the other side of the garden, bending 
 over a bed of violets to inhale their fragrance; 
 and obeying the sudden impulse that had 
 seized him to tell her of the glad tidings of 
 great joy that had come to him, he passed 
 quickly over to her side. 
 17
 
 266 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 As Ruth looked upon him she shrank back 
 surprised, for when she parted from him the 
 preceding evening his countenance wore an 
 expression of settled gloom ; but now it was 
 absolutely radiant with joy, and the terrible 
 thought struck her, that under the heavy 
 pressure of trouble his mind had given way. 
 But the first word that he spoke reassured 
 her, and as he proceeded glad and happy 
 tears fell from her ey*es. 
 
 And Mr. Richmond wept too. Yes, he 
 who had witnessed tearlessly the destruction 
 of his dearest hopes, who had heard, with no 
 outward token of grief, that most dreary of 
 all sounds, the hollow echo of the earth fall- 
 ing upon the coffin of the idol of his heart, 
 wept freely as "he spoke of the dying love of 
 Christ, and the joy and peace that his soul 
 had found in believing. 
 
 Open and straightforward in disseminating 
 his infidel doctrines, Mr. Richmond was no 
 less frank in disclosing this sudden and entire 
 change in his feelings and opinions ; and 
 scarcely a week had passed before it was 
 noised through the neighborhood that Mr. 
 Richmond, the well-known infidel, had em- 
 braced Christianity. Many of his old asso- 
 ciates could not credit it, until they had
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 267 
 
 received the assurance from his own lips; 
 and even then some of them shook their 
 heads sadly, saying " that he had gone mad ; 
 that trouble had turned his brain." 
 
 But there were others who understood 
 him better ; earnest, devoted Christians, with 
 their hearts glowing with the love of Christ, 
 who took him warmly by the hand, giving 
 him the welcome assurance of their Christian 
 love and sympathy. 
 
 There was one especially who hailed this 
 event with joy and thanksgiving. It was a 
 gentleman by the name of Howe, pastor over 
 one of^the Churches in the place. They had 
 graduated at the same college, and had al- 
 ways befcn warm personal friends. This 
 gentleman had watched for many years the 
 wanderings of that gifted but misdirected 
 mind, sorrowing that one endowed with so 
 many rare gifts should so fearfully pervert 
 them. They had had many controversies 
 upon the truths of the Bible; many and 
 earnest were the efforts that Mr. Howe had 
 put forth to open his eyes to the knowledge 
 of his error, but without avail. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Howe heard of his conver- 
 sion he called to see him. After conversing 
 with him, he received so many proofs of how
 
 268 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 perfect had been the work of grace in his 
 soul, and was so affected by his touching ac- 
 count of the manner in which he passed from 
 death unto life, that he poured forth in such 
 glowing language, that he besought him to 
 give a narration of it in his church upon the 
 ensuing Sabbath, assuring him that it might 
 result in great good. 
 
 Mr. Richmond needed no persuasions to 
 induce him to do this. Determined in pur- 
 pose and energetic in action, he was now as 
 strong and earnest in his advocacy of the 
 cause of Christ as he had hitherto been in 
 his opposition. He was not unmindful of 
 the influence that his example and opinions 
 had had upon the minds of many in "the com- 
 munity where he lived, to which his position 
 and talents had given double force, and 
 eagerly availed himself of this opportunity 
 to remove it as far as possible. 
 
 When upon the following Sabbath Mr. 
 Howe, at the close of the morning service, 
 announced that Mr. Richmond, the reformed 
 infidel, would deliver a discourse in the after- 
 noon, giving an account of his conversion, it 
 was received with an appearance of marked 
 interest, and at the appointed time the church 
 was filled to overflowing ; many going from
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 269 
 
 motives of curiosity who rarely frequented 
 the house of God. 
 
 Tall and commanding in person, and sin- 
 gularly prepossessing in appearance, when 
 Mr. Richmond arose in the pulpit every eye 
 was riveted upon him. The sorrow and 
 mental conflict through which he had just 
 passed had given to his countenance a pallor 
 which was rendered still more apparent by 
 the jetty blackness of his hair and eyes ; but 
 there was impressed upon every feature an 
 -expression of solemn joy, of holy peace, that 
 could not be mistaken. And as, stretching 
 out his hands, he invoked upon himself, and 
 upon those before him, the blessing of that 
 God whose existence they had so often heard 
 him deny, it sent a thrill of awe through the 
 heart of the most thoughtless among them. 
 And many of the followers of Christ looked 
 from one to another, as though they were 
 saying in their hearts, "This is the Lord's 
 work, and it is marvelous in our eyes." 
 
 We can give the reader but a faint idea 
 of the discourse that followed ; but one who 
 was present told us that it was one of the 
 most eloquent and impressive sermons that 
 he ever heard. Mr. Richmond was celebrat- 
 ed for his eloquence, being considered one
 
 270 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 of the most able and effective speakers ot the 
 day; but at this time it seemed as though 
 the Spirit of God had descended upon him, 
 that his lips were touched with a coal of fire 
 from his altar. And as he proceeded to nar- 
 rate his wanderings in the mazes of infidel- 
 ity, describing with terrible distinctness his 
 first awakening, the fearful struggles of his 
 soul with the darkness of unbelief, and his 
 final escape from " the bondage of sin and 
 death to the glorious liberty of the Gospel," 
 there was not a dry eye in all that crowded 
 audience. 
 
 This was the commencement of one of the 
 most powerful awakenings ever known in 
 that section of the country. God seemed to 
 pour out his Spirit upon all classes, and rich 
 and abundant was the harvest that was gath- 
 ered into the garner of the Lord. 
 
 For several weeks Mr. Richmond preached 
 both day and evening in B. and in adjacent 
 towns, thronged by crowds of attentive and 
 anxious listeners, and great and glorious was 
 the result. Hundreds of souls were convert- 
 ed, and many hearts quickened who had 
 " forgotten their first love." 
 
 But the town in which he resided was the 
 field of his most important work. It was
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 271 
 
 there that God visited his people in all his 
 power and glory, confirming the wavering, 
 strengthening the weak, and converting the 
 impenitent. The infidel club, of Which he 
 had been a member for some years, was 
 entirely broken up. Ten of its members 
 became humble, devoted Christians. By 
 common consent, the room in which they 
 used to meet to devise means to retard the 
 advancement of the kingdom of Christ, was 
 set apart for a place of prayer. O wondrous 
 and happy change ! The walls that had so 
 often echoed to their unholy mirth, were now 
 hallowed by the voice of prayer and suppli- 
 cation ; and they who used to meet to revile 
 and blaspheme, now assembled to praise His 
 holy name, who had bought and redeemed 
 them with his own blood. 
 
 It seemed to Mr. Richmond that God had 
 called upon him, through the medium of his 
 Holy Spirit, to preach the Gospel ; and after 
 consulting with several of his Christian breth- 
 ren, he determined to devote the remainder 
 of his life to the cause of his Master. 
 
 As soon as he had decided, he broached the 
 subject to his wife, acquainting her with his 
 determination, and entreating her co-opera- 
 tion with him in the great work for which
 
 272 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 he had set himself apart. He expected some 
 opposition, but was pained and surprised at 
 its extent and bitterness. She seemed to be 
 more deeply offended at what she termed his 
 fanaticism, than she had formerly been at his 
 infidelity ; assuring him, that if he put this 
 plan into execution, she would immediately 
 return to her father's house. 
 
 Finding that neither argument or entreaty 
 could in the least alter s her feelings, Mr. 
 Richmond at last consented that she should 
 go, settling an annuity upon her amply 
 sufficient for her support. She had scarcely 
 reached her father's home, however, when 
 she was stricken down by the hand of dis- 
 ease, and such rapid progress did it make, 
 that in a few days her life was despaired of. 
 
 As soon as her husband received the intel- 
 ligence, he started immediately to see her. 
 In less than a week after his arrival, this 
 most unhappy woman breathed her last. 
 
 Mr. Richmond scarcely left her for a mo- 
 ment, and was unwearied in his efforts to 
 prepare her for the great change that awaited 
 her, but from which she shrank with a fear 
 and horror indescribable. Her death-bed 
 was quite a contrast to the peace and serenity 
 of the last one he had witnessed. It was
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 273 
 
 painful to witness the tenacity with which 
 she clung to life, and her despair when she 
 found that all was unavailing. Just btfore 
 she died, her husband gathered from some- 
 thing that fell from her lips that she had 
 made her peace with God, and it filled him 
 with great joy, for well he knew that he 
 would reject none that turned to him in 
 truth and sincerity even at the eleventh 
 hour.
 
 274 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MR. RICHMOND VISITS HIS NATIVE TOWN. 
 
 EVER since Mr. Richmond had read his 
 sister's letter, a yearning tenderness had 
 sprung up in his heart for the aged father 
 from whom he had been estranged so many 
 years ; and he determined that he would not 
 rest until he had received his forgiveness and 
 blessing. But various circumstances seemed 
 to combine to prevent his putting this plan 
 into execution. 
 
 A short time after the death of his wife, 
 an incident occurred which made him re- 
 solve to delay no longer the fulfillment of so 
 plain and positive a duty. He chanced to 
 meet at the house of a friend a clergyman 
 from his native town, pastor of the Church 
 of which his father was a member. It was 
 not the minister so familiar to Mr. Rich- 
 mond in his early life; he had some years 
 since gone to his rest ; but a younger man, of 
 a more genial and happy temperament, enter- 
 taining far more liberal and enlightened views, 
 and imbued more with the Spirit of Christ.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 275 
 
 By conversing with him he learned of the 
 death of his Aunt Prudence. He found, 
 also, that his sister's fears had become real- 
 ized; that some years ago his father had 
 given up his entire property into the hands 
 of his brother John, upon the condition that 
 he was to give him a good and comfortable 
 support for the remainder of his life. 
 
 He told him, furthermore, that John had 
 brought a wife to the old homestead, and 
 had quite a family springing up around him ; 
 that report said that the old man was not 
 happy in his new home ; that neither his son's 
 wife or children gave him the respect and 
 consideration that was his due, and which he 
 had always been accustomed to receive from 
 his household. That even the son, who 
 owed him so much, and upon whom he had 
 placed so much reliance, entirely absorbed 
 in adding to, and rendering still more valu- 
 able his already large property, had grown 
 indifferent, if not neglectful of his comfort. 
 
 This ingratitude on the part of his favorite 
 eon, from whom he had expected such differ- 
 ent things, pierced Deacon Richmond's heart 
 to the quick. He made no comments or com- 
 plaints; but as time moved on, and he found 
 himself a cipher in the house where he had
 
 276 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 once reigned a king, his pride seemed to give 
 way, and he lost that air of conscious power 
 and dignity that was natural to him. Yet 
 with the sadness that had now become ha- 
 bitual to him, there was mingled a look of 
 gentleness that his countenance had never 
 worn before; and it was observed that he 
 had grown more kind and charitable, more 
 tolerant of those who differed from him in 
 opinion, and less inclined to be harsh and 
 severe in his judgment. That when he 
 spoke in their prayer-meetings, though it was 
 but seldom, that he spoke more of the joy 
 and the peace of the Gospel, that he dwelt 
 more upon the love of God, upon his for- 
 bearance and long-suffering than upon his 
 wrath. 
 
 When this clergyman learned who he was, 
 and something of the history of his past life, 
 he gave him a cordial invitation to return 
 with him upon the ensuing day ; which Mr. 
 Richmond, upon hearing that his father had 
 grown very infirm within the last two years, 
 and was not likely to live a great while 
 longer, determined to accept. 
 
 They started early in the morning, but it 
 was near the middle of the afternoon before 
 they reached their destination.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 277 
 
 After a short season for rest and refresh- 
 ment, Mr. Richmond took his hat and passed 
 out into the street. As he walked along he 
 met some familiar faces, but received from 
 them no look of recognition ; for fifteen years 
 had produced quite an alteration in his per- 
 sonal appearance. 
 
 He perceived, as he looked around, that 
 the spirit of improvement had wrought many 
 changes ; that the town had increased, both 
 in size and population. Many of the old in- 
 habitants had moved away or died, and 
 strangers had usurped their places. A num- 
 ber of new and stately edifices had been 
 erected. An imposing structure had taken 
 the place of the little brown school-house, 
 where he and his sister Grace had been in- 
 itiated into the first mysteries of learning. 
 But the lane that led to it was still there, 
 the same trees stretched their branches over 
 his head as he walked along. There, too, 
 was the brook, with its mimic ponds and 
 waterfalls, over which he used to carry her 
 with such a proud consciousness of superior 
 strength. As he looked upon it his eyes 
 grew moist with tender recollections, and it 
 Beemed as though it was but yesterday since 
 ate stood beside him there ; that he could
 
 278 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 feel the clasping of her arms around his neck, 
 her warm breath upon his cheek ; that again 
 her voice sounded in his ears, saying, " Don't 
 let me fall, Ally !" 
 
 As he approached the broad acres that 
 were attached to the old homestead, every- 
 thing grew still more familiar. Upon one 
 side were the woods, where they used to 
 " go a nutting ;" on the other was the or- 
 chard, where they had their swing ; a little 
 further along was the large cherry-tree, 
 which used to grow such famous black-heart 
 cherries. How often had he sat upon that 
 huge, overhanging bough, flinging down to 
 her large clusters of its rich, luscious fruit. 
 It seemed as though he could almost see her 
 standing there beneath the tree, holding her 
 little apron out to catch them as they fell. 
 
 The holy and tender thoughts which these 
 familiar scenes aroused in his bosom made 
 Mr. Richmond almost insensibly alter his 
 course, and turning down a narrow, secluded 
 path, that led from the'public road, he paused 
 before a little gate, a private entrance to the 
 village burying-ground. Opening it, he 
 passed in. As he walked along, he saw 
 here and there many familiar names ; but he 
 did not pause until he came to the
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHEE. 279 
 
 corner, which his father had set apart, many 
 years before, for the dead of his own house- 
 hold. 
 
 There, side by side, lay his mother and 
 sister. When they were little children, he 
 and Grace had planted some flowers upon 
 their mother's grave ; they were now as 
 thick upon one grave as the other. They 
 had grown very luxuriantly ; especially some 
 climbing roses, which he well remembered 
 that his sister had set out with her own 
 hands, and which, reaching over, were now 
 laying in thick and heavy clusters over the 
 white head-stone, upon which were graven 
 these words : 
 
 " Sacred to the memory of 
 GKACE EDITH, 
 
 Only daughter of Deacon Richmond, 
 Who died in the morning of life, 
 
 Aged eighteen. 
 ' Jflessed are the dead who die in the Lord,' " 
 
 " Yea, for they rest from their labors, and 
 their works do follow them!" was Mr. Rich- 
 mond's involuntary response as he read the 
 concluding line. 
 
 As he raised his eyes, he saw an aged man 
 slowly approaching the spot where he stood, 
 leaning heavily upon a cane. As he drew
 
 280 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 nearer his heart beat fast, for though the 
 form was bent that was once so erect and 
 vigorous, and the step, once so firm, was 
 now feeble and tremulous, he saw that it 
 was his father. How strange it was that 
 their first meeting should be upon the hal- 
 lowed ground where they had parted so 
 many years before ! He shuddered when he 
 remembered the impious words that he had 
 then spoken, and then an emotion of grati- 
 tude filled his soul as he thought of the 
 mercy that had thus spared and redeemed 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Richmond's first impulse was to 
 spring forward, and fall upon his father's 
 neck; but he saw, by his first glance, that 
 he was not recognized; and, upon second 
 thought, he judged that it would be better 
 for 'him to ascertain something in relation to 
 his feelings toward him before he disclosed 
 himself. 
 
 When his father came up to him, Mr. 
 Richmond reverently uncovered his head 
 and bowed, as though moved by respect 
 for his age and venerable appearance ; which 
 Deacon Richmond courteously returned, and 
 then fixed his eyes steadfastly upou the grave 
 before him.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 281 
 
 "Some relative, I presume," said Mr. 
 Richmond, after a respectful pause. 
 
 " My only daughter," was the brief reply. 
 
 Mr. Richmond hesitated, hardly knowing 
 how to ascertain what he so much wished 
 to know. At last he thought of the inscrip- 
 tion upon the tomb-stone of his sister, upon 
 which his father's eyes were resting, and he 
 said, 
 
 "Then I have the honor of addressing 
 Deacon Richmond." 
 
 " That is my name, sir," said the old man 
 mildly, though with evident surprise. 
 
 "I am well acquainted with your son 
 Albert, who strongly resembles you. If I 
 mistake not, you have a son by that 
 name ?" 
 
 Deacon Richmond shook his head. 
 
 "I had a son by that name," he said, 
 " but he has been dead these many years." 
 
 Mr. Richmond felt keenly the mournful 
 reproach conveyed by these words; but 
 affecting to misunderstand him, he said, 
 
 " I think that you must be mistaken, for I 
 saw him only a short time since." 
 
 The old man looked at the speaker attent- 
 ively for a moment, and then said, 
 
 " Was he in good health, sir?" 
 18
 
 282 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 "He was quite well. I expect to see him 
 again shortly, and shall be happy to be the 
 bearer of any message that you may think 
 proper to send him." 
 
 Deacon Richmond bent his eyes thought- 
 fully itpon the ground, and then raising 
 them, said tremulously, 
 
 " You may tell him, sir, that his father is 
 still alive, though standing upon the brink 
 of the grave. That he ceases not, morning 
 and evening, to beseech God, with many 
 tears, to turn him from the error of his 
 ways." 
 
 Mr. Richmond was deeply affected, and 
 with difficulty kept back his tears. 
 
 " I fear that he has been a great grief to 
 you," he said, " that he is an unkind and 
 undutiful son." 
 
 "I don't know, I don't know. Albert 
 used to have a kind, generous heart when 
 he was a lad. If his mother had lived he 
 would have been different; but she died 
 when he was but a child. He was high- 
 spirited, and impatient of restraint; and I 
 have thought, of late years, that if I had 
 dealt less harshly with him he might never 
 have done as he has. But I meant it for 
 the best."
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 283 
 
 The look and tone in which this was said 
 were indescribably touching and mournful. 
 
 " Supposing that I should tell you," said 
 Mr. Richmond, making a strong effort to 
 control his feelings, " that God had answered 
 your prayers, and brought the wanderer 
 back to him." 
 
 The old man started, trembling in every 
 limb. "Do not trifle with me, sir," he 
 said, "for I am old and feeble, and cannot 
 bear it." 
 
 "As God is my judge," said Mr. Rich- 
 mond solemnly, "I am not trifling with you. 
 I have myself heard him make a public 
 acknowledgment of his past errors, express- 
 ing the firmest conviction in the existence 
 and mercy of God." 
 
 Big tears rolled down those wrinkled 
 cheeks faster than the trembling hands 
 could wipe them. 
 
 "God is better to me than I deserve," he 
 said brokenly. " Tell my son to come to 
 me, that I may see and bless him before I 
 die !" 
 
 Albert Richmond was silent, completely 
 overcome by the emotion that he was unable 
 longer to conceal. His broad chest heaved, 
 his lips quivered, and tears, that did no
 
 284 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 wrong to his manhood, fell fast from his 
 eyes. He brushed back the hair that partly 
 shaded his forehead, and turning upon his 
 father a look of reverential tenderness, said 
 falteringly, 
 
 " Have years of sin and folly so altered me 
 that you do not know me, father? I am 
 Albert, your son! your penitent, but most 
 unworthy child !" 
 
 As he said this, he threw himself at his 
 father's feet and embraced his knees, ex- 
 claiming, as his father endeavored to raise 
 him, 
 
 " Nay, I will not rise until I have received 
 your blessing!" 
 
 The old man laid his trembling hands 
 upon that bowed head. 
 
 " God, thy father's and thy mother's God, 
 bless thee, my son," he said solemnly, "and 
 for the dear sake of Christ forgive all our 
 past errors !" 
 
 Long and tender was the communion be- 
 tween the long separated father and son. 
 There was much to be communicated on 
 both sides, and the shades of evening were 
 gathering fast when they arose to leave the 
 spot, hallowed by being the last resting- 
 place of those so dear to them both, and
 
 Deacon Richmond blessing His Son.
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 287 
 
 now the scene of their most happj reconcili- 
 ation. 
 
 As Deacon Richmond picked up his cane 
 from the ground, where it had fallen, his son 
 took it gently from him, saying, as he drew 
 his arm tenderly within his own, 
 
 " Nay, dear father, you have no need of 
 that while you have this strong arm to lean 
 upon." 
 
 The old man looked into that manly coun- 
 tenance with a smile of mingled pride and 
 affection. And as they walked slowly along, 
 it was beautiful to see how confidingly he 
 rested upon the arm of his son, and how 
 carefully that son accommodated his own 
 movements to the feeble step of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 As they approached the house, Albert saw 
 some children playing near the door, whom 
 he readily conjectured to be his brother's. 
 As soon as they perceived him they rushed 
 into the house, exclaiming at the top of their 
 voices, 
 
 " Father, grandpa is coming up the avenue 
 with a strange gentleman !" 
 
 John arose from the seat where he sat 
 reading, and turning to the window that 
 commanded a full view of them, looked out.
 
 288 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 As he did so he turned pale with dismay, for 
 well did he surmise who it was upon whose 
 arm his father was leaning. He feared to 
 meet the eye of his injured brother ; for well 
 did he know that a large proportion of the 
 property he held consisted of the rich dowry 
 that his mother had brought her husband, 
 and of which he had taken the most dishon- 
 orable means to rob her children. Judging 
 his brother's feelings by his own, he doubted 
 not but what he had come to demand an im- 
 mediate recognition of his just rights. 
 
 These thoughts were passing rapidly 
 through his mind, when his father and 
 brother entered. As Albert looked upon 
 the face of his brother his heart was moved 
 with fraternal affection, and extending his 
 hand, he gave to him a brother's greeting. 
 
 John took his hand, though it was with 
 evident reluctance, while his countenance 
 and manner showed plainly that he did not 
 share in his feelings, but regarded him as an 
 intruder. 
 
 As Deacon Richmond looked upon John's 
 lowering countenance he was displeased ; and 
 rebuking him with patriarchal dignity, he 
 said to him, in the language of one of old : 
 
 " ' It is meet that we should make mei-ry,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 289 
 
 and be glad ; for this, thy brother, was 
 dead, and is alive again ; was lost, and is 
 found.' " 
 
 Albert understood at a glance the cause 
 of his brother's coolness, and hastened to 
 remove it by saying : 
 
 " Do not fear, John, that I have come to 
 disturb you in the possession of what you 
 have so long coveted. I have already more 
 wealth at my command than is sufficient for 
 the supply of all my simple wants." 
 
 John's countenance cleared at this assur- 
 ance, though he was still somewhat incredu- 
 lous as to its sincerity, the generous spirit 
 that prompted it being entirely beyond the 
 comprehension of his narrow and selfish 
 mind. To his fathei''s great relief, however, 
 he managed, with some little show of broth- 
 erly affection, to invite him to stay at his 
 house while he remained in town, though he 
 was evidently relieved when his invitation 
 was declined. 
 
 It was more difficult for Mr. Richmond to 
 withstand the appealing look of his father, 
 whose heart was filled with self-reproach as 
 he thought that he had, by his own act, 
 placed it entirely out of his power to extend 
 to his own child the hospitality of a home
 
 290 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 that was no longer his. But he was com- 
 forted by the assurance that his son gave 
 him, that he should see him at an early hour 
 in the morning. 
 
 As Mr. Richmond retraced his way to the 
 house of his friend, his mind was full of 
 anxious thought. It was evident to him 
 that his father was not happy in his broth- 
 er's home ; and the more he reflected upon 
 it, the more he was desirous of removing 
 him to his own. But, judging his brother's 
 heart by his own, he was puzzled how to 
 bring it about without wounding his feel- 
 ings. He might have spared himself this 
 anxiety had he known that John had already 
 begun to consider his father a burden, from 
 which he would very gladly be relieved. 
 
 The next day, as Albert was going over 
 the farm with his brother, who was pointing 
 out to him the numerous improvements he 
 had made since it came into his possession, 
 the thought entered his mind that this would 
 be a favorable opportunity of sounding him 
 on the subject. So he commenced by say- 
 ing, 
 
 " I told you last night, brother John, that 
 I had not come to deprive you of any of your 
 possessions, and yet there is one that I am
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 291 
 
 very desirous of obtaining, and to which you 
 cannot but acknowledge that I have an equal 
 claim with yourself." 
 
 John's countenance fell ; his selfish and 
 grasping mind was alarmed at the idea that 
 his brother was about to ask him for some 
 portion of the property that he had just been 
 admiring. So he stammered out something 
 about " being poor, and having a large fam- 
 ily to support." 
 
 As soon as Albert comprehended his 
 brother's mistake, and the fears to which it 
 had given rise, for the first time since his re- 
 turn his countenance lighted up with that 
 expression of indignation before which John 
 had so often quailed. 
 
 "I am afraid, John, that you are poor," 
 he said; "but it is a poverty more of the 
 heart than of the purse. God give you a 
 more liberal spirit ; more in unison with His 
 whom you profess to love, who for our sakes 
 became poor, enduring not only poverty, but 
 death itself, that he might purchase for us 
 the gift of eternal life. How often must I 
 assure you that I covet not one dollar of the 
 wealth that I cannot forget, even if I would, 
 is more mine than yours ? I did but allude 
 to our revered father, whom I would esteem
 
 292 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 it a privilege to have with me during the 
 remainder of his life." 
 
 Even the shame and anger that John felt 
 at this severe, though merited rebuke, could 
 not prevent a feeling of relief, and self-con- 
 gratulation at its concluding sentence. He 
 assured his brother, " that if it was his fa- 
 ther's wish, he should not have the slightest 
 objection." 
 
 And as Albert looked upon his counte- 
 nance, and observed how the selfish pro- 
 pensities of his nature had grown stronger 
 with each succeeding year, becoming legibly 
 impressed upon every feature, he did not 
 doubt his sincerity. 
 
 So, when he returned to the house, he 
 gladdened the heart of his father by the as- 
 surance, that though he must leave him in a 
 few days, he would, after making a few 
 necessary arrangements, come back, and 
 take him to his own home. But God, in his 
 higher wisdom, had ordered it otherwise. 
 
 After- some deliberation, Mr. Richmond 
 determined to accept the urgent invitation 
 of the clergyman, at whose house he was 
 stopping, to remain and preach for him on 
 the following Sabbath. 
 
 There were many in town who remem-
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 293 
 
 bered him as a wild and reckless boy, and 
 curiosity, as well as more commendable feel- 
 ings, drew together a crowd of attentive 
 hearers. 
 
 Mr. Richmond entered the church, sup- 
 porting tenderly the tottering steps of his 
 aged father, followed by his brother and his 
 family. After opening the pew-door, and 
 seeing his father comfortably seated in one 
 corner, he turned and mounted the pulpit 
 stairs, his heart full of the strange dealings 
 of God with him since he last entered that 
 holy place. 
 
 He chose for his subject the return of the 
 prodigal son. This eloquent and affecting dis- 
 course was never forgotten by those who heard 
 it, and resulted in the conversion of many. 
 
 Deacon Richmond never once removed 
 his eyes from the countenance of his son 
 until its conclusion. Then leaning back in 
 his seat, while tears rolled slowly down his 
 cheeks, he said, in tones that were quite 
 audible to those who were sitting near him, 
 " Lord, let now thy servant depart in peace, 
 for mine eyes have seen thy salvation !" 
 
 That night he was taken alarmingly ill, 
 and at the close of the following day he "fell 
 asleep in Jesus."
 
 294 ERNEST RICHMOND 
 
 He died happy in the love of Christ ; with 
 his head resting upon the bosom of the son 
 he had once mourned as dead, blessing him 
 with his latest breath, and declaring *'that 
 his last days were better than his first." 
 
 There remains now but little more to be 
 said. After seeing all that was earthly of 
 his father laid by the side of his wife and 
 daughter, Mr. Richmond returned to the 
 field of his former labors, strengthened 
 rather than saddened by the scene through 
 which he had just passed. He is still a de- 
 voted minister of Christ, concentrating all 
 his energies to the advancement of his cause. 
 He has been signally successful in all his 
 efforts, and according to the promise, " that 
 those who turn many into the ways of right- 
 eousness shall shine as the stars of heaven 
 forever," glorious will be his reward. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding the honors that have 
 been showered upon him, the many that have 
 risen up to call him blessed, nothing can ex- 
 ceed the unaffected humility of his heart and 
 deportment. In speaking of himself as a 
 minister of Christ, he often uses the language 
 of Paul: " Not worthy to be called an apostle, 
 because I persecuted the Church of God." 
 
 Ruth Sidney still pursues her quiet way,
 
 AND HIS LITTLE MOTHER. 295 
 
 as of old, still performing many acts of 
 Christian love and kindness, but so unob- 
 trusively that it is scarcely noticed by the 
 gay world around her. 
 
 She is the faithful friend and counselor of 
 him whose moral darkness she so long de- 
 plored, and whose glorious redemption she 
 hailed with such fervent joy. Rumor says 
 that she will soon sustain to him a nearer and 
 dearer relation. I know not how true this 
 report may be ; but of this I am confident, 
 and I am sure that the reader will agree 
 with me, that for the work in which he is 
 engaged, he could not possibly find a better 
 or more fitting helpmeet. 
 
 Those who have become interested in 
 Thomas Conway will be glad to learn that 
 he nobly redeemed the promise made by the 
 death-bed of the dear child whose short life 
 accomplished so much good, and whose death 
 was still more precious. The seed sown by 
 that little hand is fast springing up in that 
 young heart, giving the promise of bearing 
 rich and precious fruit. 
 
 Mr. Richmond has become much attached 
 to him, bestowing upon him the care and 
 protection of a father, and receiving from 
 him the love and duty of a son.
 
 296 ERNEST RICHMOND. 
 
 He has announced his intention of bestow- 
 ing upon his adopted son the benefits of a 
 liberal education ; and he bids fair, in the 
 years that are coming, to become one of 
 those brave soldiers of the cross, clad in the 
 armor of truth and righteousness, 'mighty in 
 word and deed, strong for the down-throw- 
 ing of the strongholds of sin and error, and 
 for the up-building of the Church of God. 
 
 THE END.
 
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