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Jeannie,” replied Amy.’
BY GOULD & EL
VOLUME XVI,
© POETRY.
., 5 | Written for the Transoript.
“REQUIEM.
. BY a. J LeavirT.
hey Rest, pilgrim, rest ;
os ‘Yhy toil worn limbs are weary,
, Long hast thou trod)
|”, The path of life so dreary: .-;
. Thy journey now is o'er, |
‘Thy weary feet aud sore
i) “Walk the rough road no more—
Rest, pilgrim, rest !
Sleep, pilgrim, ele
Thy weary eyes reed slumber!
S (Grief hast tava kaowo
|. And sorrows without number! ;
* Long have they watched aud wept
_ While others sweetly, slept;
i ' Grateful they now accept
Rest—quiet rest.
tet yl bed
Rest, pilgrim, rest }
. thy Iabors nobly ended, *
1) Why shauld’st thou stag :° 4 Lib ¢
Where pain with joy is blended?
«Sure thou hast Lorne thy part yf, 5 [ £
Of keen sffliction’s smart; , | wey
Why weep we that you start, : .
te: For Home's calm rest
GINAL TALI TALE.
"OF
Written for the Transcript.
ok M Y LATHRO P.
: ay cousin Es0a.
part. |? ,
Amy Lathrop had d prepared the’ siimple evening
repast. and stood leaning her’ fur rehead | against. the
window, gazing thoughdessly out upon ‘the pleasant
fields that stretched away a8 far as her eye could
reach. Clumps of trees dotted ‘them “here “and
there, but ‘thé green! foliage ‘of summer, and the
warmer-tinted leaves of autumnal had disappeared,
ledving’ the! brown branches swaytug coldly to and
fro in the chill October breeze. Sad thonghts were
in the heart of Amy Lathrop, and when the patter
ing of lirtle feet on the dvor-steps reached her’ ear,
she raised her apron and hastily wiped away a few
tears, as she tarned to smile spon the children just
returned from school.
“Oh sister, i's Thanksgiving in two ‘weeks—did
you know it? cried James; throwing his arms | —'!
me
around her neck.” \!
«And can't we have mince pies, and a plam plat:
ding for dinner that day ?” chimed in Jeannie, « “it
is so long since we had mince pies!” !
“Two weeks is a long time to look forward” to,
The.children did not see
how her lips quivered, and how she ‘shut her’ eyes
“ quickly @ moment lest they should ask “why ‘there
were tears in them.- They only felt a chill at her
words; “two weeks is a long time to look forward
to, Jeannie,” without Snowing how roach 3 it pained
her to utter them.-; ©; .
Avy Lathrop at nineteen was not'a heroine of
romance. . There was nothing striking in her, per-
sonal appearance—nothing brilliant inher man-
-ners—bat she was a true heroine of real life, a pa-
tient, suffering, enduring woman, upon whom had
* fallen the care ‘of three motherless children, and the
greater care of a father whom she loved: with a
danghyer's affection, even tho’ his reckless dissipa-
_tion had well-nigh, destroyed her; respect for him.
Since the death of his wife, Morris Lathrop had
“drunk more deeply than , ever, before, for he would
fain have drowned his sorrow for ber Joss in for-
getfulness, instead of bowing meekly to the; chas-
tisement. . The loving words ‘Our Father,” were
strangers. on his lips, and bis heart was. too bitter
and proud, to echo “thy will be done.” Mrs. La.
throp true to him in life, died with a prayer for him
and her children trembling on her lips... Amy nev
er forgot that deat-bed eene, nor the last, regnest
of her mot co .
“Do not leave the little ones, my y child, ” she said,
“do not leave the little ones to the care of ® stran-
ger. Be a mother to, them—love them asI love
them, and my blessing shall rest upon you,” and
tearfully Amy gave her promise, sealing it with the
Inst, kiss from those pale lips..,
ghYears had passed since “the, and] Mr. Lathrop
tland
WELL,
, Office 80 Middle, near Corner ot Exchange Bt.
sc d bis days at the village inn, or in
ically to. his home, which Amy’s willing yet. feeble
hands, still kept neat and comfortable. . There were
hours when the unhappy man would fain have re-
turned to the right path, and become the frind and
guardian of his children, still dear to him. . Such
times were wher he was alone with nature—in the
forest, with no sound save. the whispering of the
leaves, or the song of the birds to jar upon his
heart; but when he returned again to the village,
there were his companions ready with their flatter:
ing words to win him back from all good thoughts;
and so itnever chanced that Amy, saw him in
softened and tender mood, else her troubled heart
might have hoped fur better and happier days,
“Shall we wait for father to- night, Amy? ” asked
Lizaie Lathrop., “I am so hungry, for I gave Jean-
nie and James, my dinner to-day because they ‘had
not enough.”
“Well, wait just a little ‘while, Lizzie,” Amy re-
plied, “but you shall get something to eat nows
dear child. 1 would rather not have supper. yet,
for father may be home, and we want it all bright
and pleasant for him you know. , And Lizzie,” she
added, “I want to run out a. few. minates, if you
will take care of the hoyse while I am gone,” and
throwing over her soft, dark. curls a plaid shawl,
she hurried away, Not far fiom her home, was a
grove of. willow trees and thither the: young girl
hastened through the fast gathering darkuess, But
another bad reached the spot before her, and when
she drew near, a strong arm was stretched forth for
:| her to lean upon, and the voice she loved most, fell
upon her ear. . The willow groye was the trysting
place of Harry Fletcher aud Amy Lath| rop.
“I have been waiting a long ' time, darling,” said
the young man, drawing hearer to him the slight,
girlish fignre.
“I conldn’t come before, for the children were
lata from school, and now I must not stay, because
father may be at home, and I would not bs awa
when he comes.” |? 4
“Always the children, and father Amy, as if I
‘was not worthy five minates twice in the week—you
are alcays in a hurry when you do come,” and Har.
ty spoke almost angrily. ©
The tears started to: Amy’s eyes, and she ‘said
sadly, “It would he best for us both, dear Harry, ii
T did not come at all; and I wanted to tell you
£0 to-night.” :
' “Not come at all! are yon angry swith me—or
tired of me—or is Ralph
“Stop _Harry—don't say any more. How can
you speak in thisway to me? You know how I
love you, and it is just becanse I do, that I. am
afraid to come here and talk with you soofien, It
is because you are always urging me to leave my
father and the children, and become your wife, that
I dare not come, for oh Harry, I cannot leave them
and yet—and yet——" and the girl stopped and
leaned ber bead on her bands,
“And why can't you marry , ime, Amy? “Thave
told you I would take care of the. children, and
even that your father should have a home with us,
and yet yon always say,‘it cannot be. I tell youit it
could be, if you loved me as I love yon, but you
don’t—you never did, and if I were to go away to-
morrow, and Ralph Bendon were to come to you
with his soft words next week, you would marry
him, ard forget all about me—",
~Q1 Ifarry, you are too ernel—you never spoke
so unkindly to me before faltered Amy, bursting
into tears.
: 8Forgive me, darling, I won’ t believe what Tsai,
but Ralph Bendon is always talking about you,
and, his father is rich, so I thought that perhaps
when Iam gone he wonld——" ,
« “What did you say, Harry ?, I didn’t understand
you q” asked Amy, looking up quickly.
Tlarry hesitated and was silent.
SF thought you said something about when you
were gone,” continued tho girl, and her voice shook,
tho’ she, tried to, smile...) ) 5: .
} Well, so Tdid. Lam going avvay. Tam going
out West; and sce if I can’t make money: eroagh
to come back and take my. mother, and you, and
} | your father and the cbildren all back with me, if
you will only wait for me Amy, and love me while
forgetting his aaty to his children—forgeuing him-.
the woods with his dog and gan—returning period |
AN INDEPENDENT FAWILY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, NEWS, S&. —
PURTLAND, SATURDAY,
9
DECEMBER 4, 1852.
Tam away.” Amy listened, but made no answer
“Why don’t you speak, darling ?” he asked after
awhile, litting her head from his strong arm, and
looking dow into her face. It was so pule, and
sad, that he started.
““T don’t want to leave you. Amy, if you will only
marry me, We will work here together and be
happy won't you, Amy?” and he listened for her
reply. At Iength it eame, low; tremulous, but firm
—"It, cannot—cannot be”, Iarry dropped her
hand. “Then you don’t care whether I go or not—
but perhaps you will come here once more and say
good-bye, for the sake of old times, I shall go the
week after Thanksgiving,-but I don’t’ ask you to
come again until Thanksgiving evening. JZ shall
be here just as I always have been for the last two
years fur I shall want it to think of when Iam far
away. Amy grasped his arm convulsively, her
whole frameYshivering with excitement.
; “Harry,” she said, tyou are not yourself, else you
would not talk to me in this way to-night. You
don’t méan what you are. saying. ‘Now listen. to
me, Harry. I love you dearly—dearly—more than
any one on earth, “You have been’ my only com-
fort all these long months back, when I have had
so much to trouble me, and I believe that you love
me. ‘Bat Harry do you see that star, just comin;
out in the blue sky ? | Every night I look at that
star, until it seems to me that it is my mother; and
then I think L hear her voice saying, ‘do not leave
the little ones. Bea mother to them—love them
as I Jove them, and my blessing shall rest apon you,
and then I feel in my heart, Warry, that even my
love for you cannot come between me and my mo-
ther’s blessing.”
: Warry Fletcher was calmed by the firmness of
his companion. ¢ IIe looked into her fare, so beau-
tifal in its parity—so holy in’ its devotion,’ and
though: his heart rebelled against her decision, he
felt the utter nselessness of saying more,
“You will still meet me here, until I go, then—
won't you, Amy ?” he asked ag he bade her good-
night. ' She did not speak, but he read her reply in
the tearful eyes she raised to his, and once more
drawing her to bim, and kissing her Rushed brow,
he hastened away.’ °'
Until the darkness hid him from her sight, Amy
watched his retreating figure, then clasping her cold
hand. and raising’ her eyes towards Heaven,. she
breathed a prayer to Him who heareth the ery of
all His children—a prayer for submisssion to the
pisine Will, and for strength to do her duty by the
loved ones at home, and even as the words trembled
‘on her lips she seemed to feel stronger than bee
fore.
| When Amy left the grove, and her soft, quick
step died away in the distance, there arose a tall
figure, from behind a fence where ,it had lain’ con:
cealed during her interview with Harry Metcher,
and came and threw itself upon the ground where
they had been Standing, Terzible it was to” wit-
ness the agony which shook the frame of that strong
man, and caused hitter, scalding tears to flow rap-
idly over his rough, dark cheek, S yore
’Oh my wife! my Mary Ihe groaned. aloud,
clenching his hands tightly together. “What have
I been doing all these long years since you left me
Haye you been watching over me, as you said you
would, and only to see me grow worse, and worse
every day? Mary, darling, watch ‘me still—watch
me still—and God forgive me!” An hour passed
on, yet Morris Lathrop continued kneeling upon
the cold earth, his eyes raised towards the stars.—
Their light was ‘calm and holy, and it scemed to
shine down into his very heart, witnessing the sol-
emn purposes that were forming in it; and when
at length he arose, and stood erect, still gazing ap-
wards, he felt himself once more a strong, -true
man. " !
pa
‘PARTI aa
“pPhankagiving day ‘came, ‘bright: and den, and
| the Lathrop children were stirring as: the earliest
streak of dawn pecped over the hills, fur it prom-
ised to be a happy time to them all. Amy :alone
arose and went about her daily duties quietly and
gravely as usual, for she alone looked forward to
Pgh
Cranseript, —
One ‘Deller for Eight Menthe, nhs
the sad parting that evening ander the shadows of
the willow trees; yet there was no shrinking in her
brave .young beart, though’ often. during the day
when no one was looking, she brushed away the
ee
: $460 PER YEAR 9) sc
NUMBER. 34.
tears that, would keep coming to her eyes 5 and.
once or twice she stole away, up into the dark;
quiet chamber where her mother died, and kneeling ;
at the bedside almost she fancied she saw her gen-
tle smile, and heard her voice so soft and low, “love
them as I Jove them, and my blessing’. shall: rest:
npn you,” and then she felt quite calm and strang»
>
_ 8
Slowly passed the hours of that Thanksgiving
day to Amy Lathrop, until the evening came, and {
she found herself in the well-known spot with Har-
ry Fletcher beside her; then the moments scemed }
winged, they flew by so swiftly, and though. every
one as it fled diminished the time they could be,
together, still neither spoke fora Jong while. With
clasped hands they stood beneath the leafless trees |
through whose branches. fell the moonbeams, iw
chequered patches upon their, faces. . Harry’s was,
aggard and pale, and as Amy looked up into it,.
she felt that her own sorrow must be locked tight- ,
ly in her heart, while she spoke comforting words ;
to him. Patient, all-enduring woman! look up to ,
the star-gemmed heavens for sympathy, and a whis- ,
per of peace, for on earth thou receivest none—:;
thou givest all! Tenderly, and in alow voice Amy
spoke, until the shadow of a smile flitted across -
Harry’s brow. vent Laan
“God bless you, darting !” he whispered, drawing ,
her close to him, and pressing his lips upon ‘her ,
soft, brown curls, “what shall Ido when Iam. far
away off in the western forests, without your: voice
and smile to cheer me?” and still Amy suffered no -
tear to come to her eyes, though many were lying | .
in her heart, to be shed in anguish that night, when _
she was alone,
And it was all over now—that bitter tearful pacts
ing. The last good-bye was spoken, the last kiss +
given and received, and now Amy must bring back ,
ihe smiles to her lip, and her voice must be ready.
10 counsel and encourage the little ones, for whos
vnake she had bowed her own will.
_\ After that night there was no outward sign of
sorrow, bat Amy went about the honse cheerfully
and hopefully, caring for each member of the fam- *
ily more tenderly than ever before ; and if now and”
then a feeling of regret stole into her: heart;.she'*
banished it at once, reproaching herself for even her ©
momentary sadness, fora new light of happiness
was burning steadily around the old hearth-stone, *
bright enough to chase away every shadow of a grief. *
The dear but erring father of a tew months ago, +
was now the revered head of the family, ts whom >
Amy might safely look for advice and encourage-'?
ment in every difficulty, while the younger children !
clung about him as they ased to do in the old, hap:'
py days, glad, so glad, yet silently wondering ae i
the change.
Quictiy. pleasantly, the long winter r slipped away, '
and now by the wayside spears of bright, shining +
grass were springing up. Jeannie had even brought !
home for Amy a bunch of dewy, blue eyed violets,» !
found in a niché and beneath the shadow of a great
brown rock—while early, very early one morning, 3
the children had’ seen a robin red-breast, perched \>
on the limb of a lilac bush, and looking about him “=
for a’ building spot, singing all the. time @ most *
sweet and j Joyous song. . oe
One evening early in May came a long letter ta2
Mr, Lathrop trom Harry Fletcher, urging’ him’ te "2
come out with his family to the far West, and bring °**
also his own dear old mother, “the widow Fletcher.” A
Tle wrote of the pleasant home he had made, large |
enongh for them all; of the abundance of work,
and the high wages given for doing it; of the
peace, and’ plenty, and happiness they ‘might all
enjoy together in this “land of promise,” until Mr.
Lathrop after thinking the matter alt over, 6erious- ©
ly, decided at length to go. 6!
Lizzie, and'James and Jeannie, were sorry to'*
leave their pleasant New England ‘home, for one.
which they felt sare was dismal, and dark vin the +s
great foresis’ of the West. : James even pictured tot
his timid little sister, a night scene, in which fam-"*
ished panthers and tigers,’with fiery eyes and sharp -
teeth, looking in at the unclosed windows of their |*
log-hoase, until he not only made Jeannie cover +:
her face and weep, bat himself turn pale and trem-
dle at his own imaginings. Bat Amy was only. £
impatient to follow whither her own heart bad long (+
since gone, knowing that however deep iti the wile’?
derness that home might be, so that it was near te
a
