"The story I have to tell you came under my immediate observation. I was quite well acquainted with the princ.i.p.al character.

"Very many years ago, and not far distant from this city, lived an orphan boy, scarce fifteen years of age--bereaved, at one cruel blow, by a prevailing epidemic, of both parents, and left to the care of an uncle (his father's brother), a hard, cruel man.

"A few hundred dollars, quite sufficient, however, to support and continue the boy's studies, for a few years, was left in the hands of the uncle. But of this there was no proof--no will or last testament was left.

"Death came so swiftly there was little time for aught save an appealing look from son to brother, and the pleading voice murmured:

"'Be a father to my boy, Oh! deal justly, kindly towards him!'

"In a very few days the sensitive mind of the poor boy too truly perceived that he was not a welcome inmate. Before a month had pa.s.sed he was withdrawn from school; his love of study was discouraged; in fact, made a source of ridicule; and his time so completely taken up with hard work on the farm, there was no chance for aught else.

"On one occasion George (we will call him) ventured a remonstrance with his uncle--alluding to the money in his possession to be used for George's education and support. Judge of his amazement and indignation when the bad man denied having one dollar in trust for him, and ended by calling him a pauper, and saying he would have to work for his bread.

"The future, there, was very plain to George; a life of ignorance--nothing higher than a mere farm drudge. His mind was determined against that. Privation, suffering, death, even, were preferable. The next day found him a fugitive from injustice and dishonesty--a lonely traveler on the path of life. Seeking Fortune, to find and be treated by that whimsical G.o.ddess with good or ill. To be smiled or frowned upon, to be mounted upon the triumphing waves, rising higher and higher, until he had reached the pinnacle of Fame, or drifted about, sinking lower and lower in the dark waters, at last reaching the pool of Dishonesty, Despair, Death!

"Ah! who could tell which fate would be his?

"Oh, how I can sympathize with all such! looking back on my own pathway to manhood; remembering the dangers, temptations and numberless snares that youths have to encounter. In fact, to pa.s.s through a fiery furnace! And how very few are they, that come forth, unscarred, and purified!

"Remembering this, I exclaim, 'How was I saved?' And then my heart, almost bursting with grat.i.tude, forces the words to my lips--by G.o.d's mercy alone!

"Taking with him a few favorite books--a change of linen--he bade adieu to the home so laden with bitter memories.

"A day's weary travel brought him to the city of L----. Here, for many days, until the autumn came on, he managed to subsist--doing little ch.o.r.es, carrying a carpet-bag or bundle--earning enough to sustain life merely, and sleeping in the depot or market-house.

"At length the cold days and colder nights came on; work was very hard to find, and our poor boy's fort.i.tude was severely tried.

"The day of his trial, his direst temptation, came! For twenty-four hours he had not tasted food. A cold, bleak night was fast approaching. One after another of his books had gone to get a piece of bread. Now nothing was left but starvation or--the boy dare hardly breathe it to himself--or dishonesty!

"He must have food somehow. Loitering about the depot, watching a chance to earn a few pennies, he saw a gentleman alight from a carriage, take out his pocketbook, pay the driver, and return it, as he supposed, to his pocket.

"It was almost dark, yet the eager eye of the hungry boy saw what had escaped the driver's.

"There, in that gutter, lay the surety against suffering for that and many coming nights.

"He was about to rush forward and secure the prize--the lost pocketbook--but caution whispered, 'Be sharp! you may be seen.' And then, with the cunning and slyness of an old thief--thus suddenly taught by keen suffering--he sauntered along, crossing the gutter, stumbled and fell; then put out his hand, covered and secured his treasure, slowly arose, and feigning a slight lameness, he retraced his steps towards the depot, entered the waiting-room, which he felt sure would be unoccupied at that hour. Getting behind the warm stove and close to the dim lamp, he opened the pocketbook--gold! notes!

tens, twenties! over a hundred dollars met his gaze! When had he seen so much? His--all his! Had he not found it? Possibly he might have overtaken the owner and restored it, but what was the use of throwing away good luck! But already Conscience was at work. Turning over the notes he found a little silken bag. Opening it, he drew forth a miniature painting of a beautiful little girl, and on the back was written:

"'Our darling! three years old to-day.'

"It was a lovely, angelic face. The boy was fascinated, spellbound by it. Long he gazed. He grew very uneasy. His bosom heaved convulsively.

There were signs of violent emotion, and then burst forth the words:

"'I have not stolen it. Who says so? I found it!'

"Again he looks almost wildly at the picture; then whispers hoa.r.s.ely:

"'She says, "Thou shall not steal!" Can this be stealing? No--no, it is not. It is luck. I am growing nervous from long fasting. Oh, Heavens, how hungry I am! Bread, bread! I must have bread or die!'

"Taking out a few small coins, he closed the pocketbook, putting the little miniature in his bosom; then walked as swiftly as his failing strength would allow; reached, and was about to enter, an eating-house. At the door, he hesitated; and, drawing forth the little picture, looked again at the baby-face. Now, to his eye, she has grown older; and the face is so sad, with such an appealing look, which speaks to his inmost heart.

"The blue eyes were no longer the laughing ones of childhood; but, oh! yes, it was really so--his mother's lovely, sad face was before him! The same sweet, quivering lips, which seemed whispering so earnestly:

"'Thou shalt not steal!'

"Thrusting the picture back to its hiding-place, he sank exhausted from violent emotion and extreme weakness down on the stone steps.

"Oh, the terrible struggle that was going on in that young breast!

"The tearing pangs of hunger, the sharp stinging thrusts of conscience were warring for the victory. Oh, those who have never known the pangs of hunger can but poorly imagine that fearful struggle. At last, thank G.o.d! Conscience triumphed. Honesty was victor.

"Bursting into tears, he murmured:

"'G.o.d forgive, and have mercy! Mother--little angel-girl smile on me!'

"He returned the coin to the book, and clasping it tightly, replaced it in his pocket.

"'I will not touch one cent; and in the morning, if I live so long, I will find some means to restore it to the owner--all but the little picture--that angel-child has saved me, and I must keep her to watch over me in the future.'

"Slowly he arose, and was proceeding along the street, thinking he could at least return and sleep in the depot, when a loud noise attracted his attention.

"A horse came dashing furiously along the street, drawing after him a buggy in which was crouching a lady almost lifeless with terror.

Thoughts as swift as lightning flashed through his mind; he might save her--what though he was trampled to death. Then he surely would be relieved from suffering!

"Summoning up all his little strength--then wonderfully increased by excitement and manly courage--he rushed forward, faced the frightened little animal, seized the reins, and was dragged some distance, still holding firmly on--sustaining no injury save a few bruises--until he succeeded in checking the wild flight. He saw his advantage; then, with a kind voice, he spoke to the horse, patting and rubbing his head and neck, until he became quite gentle. George knew the poor fellow was not vicious but frightened at something he had seen or heard.

"In a few moments he was joined by a crowd--among whom came a gentleman limping and wearing a look of great anxiety.

"George knew his thoughts, and said:

"'The lady is not at all hurt, sir, only frightened.'

"Several had seen the boy's action, and the owner of the horse soon understood all about it. Many were his words of grateful acknowledgment, and warmly shaking the boy's hand, he pushed into it a half-eagle.

"Looking at this a moment, again tempted by hunger, he hesitated--then exclaimed:

"'No, thank you, sir, I cannot take it. I am amply rewarded by having succeeded in helping the lady.'

"'Oh, do let us do something to prove our thanks. You look so weary, and indeed, almost sick. Tell us how can we serve you,' said the lady, who had not spoken until then.

"These kind words brought tears to the boy's eyes; he tried to speak, but his voice failed.

"'There, my boy,' said the gentleman, 'it is growing very cold. We live only a short way from here. I shall lead my horse, and you must follow on. Supper is waiting for us; and after we have been refreshed by a cup of hot coffee and something substantial, I shall insist on being allowed to prove my thankfulness in some way or other.'

"This kindness, George had neither the strength nor the will to refuse.

"Following on, he soon reached with them, the house of Dr. Perry. Such a supper the famished boy had not seen since his parents' death, and he did full justice to it.