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cmmiirc
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W--J.‘ GUNDIINGHAIII, mmusnmn,
VOL. I. .
PHILADELPHIA, SATURDAY, APRIL 24, 184.7.
‘ 104 scum sr.
NO, 47.‘
"‘(‘:Sel.cetcil‘ for the Boys’ and Girls’ CL Iflagaztiner)
rag P an I T E H T s
- ‘ , i ‘t ‘ ENRY MoN'rronr,, an
' only child, and heir to
his father, was a youth
3 of A about fifteen years
n
edifying scenes; and
. , although he had good
. intentions, he had not
as yet effected any re-
, ' formation.in his un-
‘mm becoming conduct.-
vVx.He ‘loving his father
y Nrfand his preeeptor, but
he loved his pleasures
Lmore. Hewvished to
""“: - do ever thin" to af-
. I ’ 13:-T=l5Af3::’x:‘sT‘7"‘ford therii joys,‘ yet the
sweetest of all joy-their beholding him docile
and yvirtuous--he withheld from them; The
violeneeof his disposition Often drew from those
who loved him so dearly, tears of bitterness, the
result of fwhieh was similar symptoms -of grief
in the youthful offender himself. Thus was his
life ‘divided between the commission 'of crime
and repetentanee: and the fruitlessness of his
good resolutions, ever‘ blighted by his culpable
conduct, had rid his parents of all fair hope of
' ever witnessing his amendment. ,
-‘The‘good count,’ his father, was incessantly,
and‘with ever-increasing anxiety, looking for-
ward to the time when Henry must quit him'to
g enter the university or to go abroad. The bye-
paths of vice would then tempt him<umier’a
most inviting appearance; neither the voice nor
the hand of a father would any longer be there
to recall or detain him; he might with impunity
fall from sin to sin,‘ and then return to'his pater.‘
nal roof with his‘ soul5‘eorr’oded' b'y‘viee,'berelt
of its purity and its noble elevation, and,incapa-
ble'even‘of asentinient of repentance.‘ .
The count was’ of a mild and irresolute dis-'
position and of delicate health; ‘‘the death of the
countess, his lady,'had undermined the ground
upon which he stood.‘ Henry, ‘upon the’ anni-'
versary of his father's birth-‘day, thought that he
heard‘a voice interiorly waming“hirn thus :--
“ The slender covering of earth which ‘bears thy
father," and separates him from'the ashes of thy
7 mother, will soon give way, and he will-disap-
pear from the eyes without bearin'g4'along with
him to the tomb a‘ ram: hope "of thy’ amend-‘
ment.” ‘The’ tears ‘that he that day shed,’ were
copious and frequent,‘ but wh31t"do..we'eping and
shedding of tearsiavail without a refomiation of
theheart? ‘ A- r- e
.‘Towards the day's’ decline" he walked forth
into the verdant park, studded with sturdy oaks,
and beautiiied both by nature and art, ‘ There,
within a pieturesqueiieemetery, adjoining‘ the
venerable ‘church, lay the tomb of his mother,
and near it the empty sepulchre, which his flitlier,
during a late attack of illness, had caused to ‘be’
dug: with his eyes rivettedupon them, he form-
ed the resolution of combatting his‘ ardent and
boundless thirst for pleasure, but, alas! it would
be too galling to my youthful readerswere I to‘
relate in detail how Henry, a few days previous
to his "departure for the university,‘bee.j1methe"
perpetrator of a crime “’i)lL‘h,‘l'll’u(V]dlll'0n to the‘
numerous daggers already plunged de‘ep‘,into
his father's heart, plunged another still deeper
and more poignant. The count again fell sick‘
and took to his bed, without being able to con-
solc himself with the cheering hope that he
would not exhange that sorrowful couehfor the
bed of clay which awaited him in the park,'until
he had witnessed his son's return to the path of
virtue. ' ” ‘
l‘ ‘I will not, then, disclose the horrid crime, nei-
ther will I relate the unbounded aflliction of the
