"I can't, oh, I can't!" she cried, "don't ask me. I can't see him yet."

Finding her in such a condition, I left her, and begged mother to allow me to remain with my boy; but she said, it was my duty to go below to my husband. It was in vain for us to try to eat. Pauline sobbed so violently, that her father was obliged to hold her in his arms to soothe her. I severely blamed myself for saying what I said to the sensitive child.

"My little daughter," said Frank in a most touching tone, "when you say your prayers, do not you ask G.o.d to make you a good child, so that you can go to heaven? And then you prayed G.o.d last night to make your little brother good, so that he could go; did you not ask this?"

She could hardly speak, but she sobbed out, "I didn't ask G.o.d to take him so soon, I wanted us to go together."

Her father could but press her to his heart. How often had we prayed that they might be fitted for heaven; but alas! had not dreamed of such a sudden separation.

_Tuesday, March 20th._

Our little one lies buried in a shady knoll at the end of the garden, and there, when I have done with time, I hope to be laid beside him.

Many times in the day do we bend our steps to the quiet retreat, and weep over the little grave. Pauline weeps less, and by the deep spiritual light in her eyes, I think she begins to understand something of the glory and purity of that world where her beloved brother has gone.

Our good friends Caesar, Phebe, Ann, and Ruth, have shared so truly in our grief, that I feel as if they were related to us. Poor Ann is almost unfitted for everything. Whenever she sees his clothes or toys she weeps afresh.

With regard to myself, I feel at times a submission to the divine will, and even can realize the blessedness of my child in being with his Saviour, freed from sin and temptation to do evil; and then I am calm.

But the merest trifle unnerves me. I have not had the heart to put away his clothes, and his little cap and cloak have hung in the hall as heretofore. A day or two since, I missed the cap from the hook, and going into the library I found my dear husband in an agony of grief over it. I was thankful that I was now able to be the comforter.

_Thursday, June 7th._

I suppose ere this you have received the sad intelligence in my last, together with one of later date from Frank.

I have but just arrived at home from a journey to B---- and some other places. I was exceedingly unwilling to leave my husband, whose duty detained him at home. But both on my own account and Pauline's, he thought it best to change the scene.

If it were not for the night, I could control my feelings; but I dream of my boy, and awake to find myself childless. Often he seems to stand by me or float before me in the air, and that dreadful, agonized "mamma"

he uttered, rings in my ears, and awakes me in affright.

Of late, however, I have been less disturbed, and my dreams of him are delightful. Frank is unwilling to have me dwell so much upon my sorrow, and when I see him, though pale and suffering, going on quietly with his round of duties, I feel reproved.

I commenced writing of our journey. We went directly to B---- after receiving a very kind invitation from uncle and aunt Morgan. Mother came over to the house to be with her son, and Emily accompanied me. Our journey was shorter than the former one, being all the way by railroad.

We found our thoughtful cousin waiting for us at the station. The sight of his smiling face brought my little Walter so forcibly to mind, that I was completely overcome. Poor fellow! he was much distressed, and tried to soothe me. Pauline was delighted to see him, and put her hand in his, as confidingly as of old.

Uncle and aunt received us with parental tenderness. I was glad to hear from them so good an account of their son. He has gone into business in B----, and bids fair not only to be a wealthy, but a useful man. He went unknown to his parents and collected a Sabbath-school in the outskirts of the town, and in a place where the inhabitants had heretofore been regarded as too abandoned to be reclaimed. Here for a year past he has spent all the time he could command from other duties, during the week, as well as on the Sabbath, and now it is called the "Morgan parish."

Many who have known Joseph from babyhood, shook their heads when he commenced this labor of love; and thought, he only intended it for a new frolic,--that the novelty would soon pa.s.s away, and he would tire of the confinement. But as they see him more and more interested in his school, comprising now not only children, but parents, they feel a great respect for the young man.

I am quite amused at the way he treats Pauline, a little maiden of five years. He never plays with her, as it would be natural for him to do with a child of her age, but appears to regard her as something sacred; and is as delicate in his attentions as if she had numbered four times five years.

But cousin has not lost his character for fun. He would not be Joseph if he had; but he is very careful in his jokes not to wound the feelings of others. Then his manner of treating his parents is so much more respectful than formerly. Dear uncle and aunt! With what pride do they look upon his fine manly form and his bright happy face. Then they know this is a sure index of his heart. I found out his age while we were there, which was less than I had supposed. But I will keep his secret.

After a delightful visit at B---- we returned by a somewhat circuitous route to visit other relatives, to whom I was not an entire stranger, having met them at mother's. Pauline was very much delighted with travelling, and Emily took pains to point out to her every object of interest.

I must not omit to mention a circ.u.mstance which occurred before we left B----. Joseph was reading various items from a New York paper while we sat around the breakfast table to which we all listened with interest, when he came upon the following. "We learn that the Honorable Mr.

Karswell, and family, of the firm of C. M. Karswell and brothers, are about to leave by the packet ship Cambria for Liverpool, where he is to meet his son, who has been travelling for a number of years in company with a distinguished clergyman, formerly settled in Waverley, Ma.s.sachusetts, when they intend to make the tour of Europe and to visit the Holy Land. Mr. Karswell considers himself very fortunate in having been able to avail himself of the company of Mr. Benson in their travels; he being familiar with the languages of the countries through which they pa.s.s; and every way a great acquisition."

I could not tell how Emily looked, for I took particular pains to be occupied with Pauline, but I am sure my own face burned.

"Well," said uncle, "pa.s.s on to the next," little aware what an interest that small item had to some of the hearers. Emily soon made an excuse to leave the room, and I thought it best not to revert to the subject. In the course of the day I looked over the paper to see if any part of this communication had been omitted in the reading; when to my astonishment it was nicely cut out.

Aunt looked up at my expression of surprise and said, "O! Emily asked if we had done with the paper, she wanted to cut out a pattern of something." I had my own thoughts, but of course said nothing, and so the subject pa.s.sed. I may as well say here that on my return, I asked Frank what family Mr. Karswell had, and learned that there were two accomplished daughters. He has been a widower many years, and the eldest daughter has kept house for him. The younger one, Gertrude, Frank says, gave promise of great beauty.

Frank was a little troubled about the cutting out of that "pattern" from the paper, especially as Emily did it so secretly. "If she loves him yet," said he, "she has had a severe punishment for her proud dissimulation."

On our return from New York, and when we were within thirty miles of home, the cars were full, and Emily was separated from us by two seats, Pauline and I being together. A gentleman who was a stranger to me took the vacant seat by sister. He was very much browned, as if he had come from a foreign clime, but altogether a n.o.ble specimen of man. After a few moments I was astonished to see them in the full tide of conversation, Emily being more interested than I had seen her for many a day. The burden of the conversation at length devolved upon her, while he grew more and more taciturn, until I saw that he put his handkerchief to his eyes and was much overcome by what she said. As she turned a little toward her companion, I saw that her own eyes were humid with tears; and I wondered at the meaning of this emotion. Fortunately for my curiosity, we soon reached a station, and the persons sitting in front of us left. Emily and her companion immediately arose and availed themselves of this seat.

I was not a little surprised, as well as pleased, when Emily said to me, "Do you remember, Cora, I told you about Edward Ryland, brother to your little Anna's mother?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Well, this is he, just returned from India. He has not heard from his sister for many years. I have been giving him a sketch of her history."

I cordially gave him my hand, which he grasped so warmly, that I did not recover from the pressure during the remainder of our ride. He begged for all the news, saying, "I am absolutely famished for intelligence from home friends." He was very much affected at hearing of the reformation and peaceful death of Squire Lee; and shocked though not much astonished at the conduct of Joseph. From his frequent inquiries concerning families in Waverley, I more than suspected there was some one in that place whom the thought of meeting thrilled his soul with the sentiment,

"My heart's so full of joy, That I shall do some wild extravagance Of love in public; and the foolish world, Which knows not tenderness, will think me mad."

We were so much engaged in talking as to be unaware of our near approach to Crawford, and sprang hastily to our feet as the conductor called out the familiar name. Inviting Mr. Ryland to make us an early call, we took a carriage and drove home, where we had no reason to complain of our reception. I went into the house very gently, and pushing open the library door, I saw my own dear Frank sitting, reading with his back to the entrance. I crept softly across the room, and put my arms around his neck. He sprang to his feet letting his book fall, and caught me in his arms.

"My wife, mine own, I will never let you leave me again. If you go, I shall follow. I am good for nothing without you.--

"Thinkest thou That I could live, and let thee go, Who art my life itself?--no--no."

We then went to find mother and all the dear family. I had been dreading the return for fear my grief would overpower me; but I was graciously supported. Frank was very kind, and kept us busily talking. I believe Emily told every circ.u.mstance which had happened during our absence, (which I omitted I mean) except the one unimportant fact of her begging and saving as a choice article, an inch of waste paper.

_Monday, September 10th._

Allen Mansfield and Lucy are very pleasantly settled near us. Mrs.

Burns, and one of the chambermaids from Lee Hall form their establishment, together with a little stranger a week old, who has already received the name of Emily Lenox. Frank says, Lucy is exceedingly happy and grateful for the sweet treasure.

There is one event connected with this family, however, which has cast a gloom over the whole town, at least the sober part of it. The distillery, which was closed very soon after Squire Lee was taken sick, has been started again, and is now in full tide of operation under the energetic management of an agent procured by Joseph. He is absent and Lee Hall is closed. Report says, he has gone abroad in company with his inseparable companion, Mr. Colby. It is really saddening to think of a young man of good talents, as Mr. Colby appeared to be, so entirely led away and ruined by bad company. For many months before they went away, his office was closed, and he made no pretensions to business. He had his home entirely with Joseph, if home it could be called, where there was drinking and fighting both in the parlors and in the kitchen. Many times the man who professedly kept up the establishment, had to call in help to separate Mr. Colby and Joseph. When drunk, they tried to kill each other; but when sober, or partly so, were apparently the best of friends.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"LOVE!--what a volume in a word, an ocean in a tear!" TUPPER.

_Wednesday, June 10th, 1840._

DEAREST MOTHER,--It is a week since sister Nelly sailed for home. I am so lost without her, that I have determined to resume my journal which has been interrupted for nearly two years.

I can never sufficiently thank you for sparing her to me so long. I sent many messages by her which I could not find time to write. If you are as much interested in my friends as she was, she will give you the latest intelligence from them. She would not be contented until she had received an introduction in person. Many of them exceedingly regret her departure.