Title Page
 The city clerk
 Life is sweet

Title: city clerk and his sister
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00057810/00001
 Material Information
Title: city clerk and his sister
Series Title: city clerk and his sister
Physical Description: Book
Creator: Sedgwick, Catharine Maria,
Publisher: Willis P. Hazard
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00057810
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
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Resource Identifier: ltuf - ALK2727
alephbibnum - 002250967

Table of Contents
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    The city clerk
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 40a
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 64a
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Life is sweet
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 84a
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
Full Text






Aw3OF 01o "SOE," PO MO MAN X," "t xAXm AWD M," M.

it) $ ot Xlarstwattles.





A sister's love I dwel upon the thme-
The only love on earth to which the erth
Ha given no taint of sel-rpzrthl cae.
HUnrT WAs.
IT is about the diddle of November-
a bright, soft day, when the geniDl spirit
of the year looks back with-. of his
farewell smiles. His watni lB f
spread, silver haze over the rugged a
sides. The mountain tops are sh
-the dried leaves bitten off by the U

,turn round and round, and jqp without
a sound. A rather narroWrk stream
runs rapidly, descending as it goes, till
it reaches the rear of a one story house,
where, being set back by a dam below,
it seems like a plate of burnished steel
from which a soft vapor is rising. Around
its edges is a thin coating of ice, indicat-
ing the cold of the preceding night. The
house stands on the declivity of a hill
that slopes gradually from the road, (a
h.ldred yards from it,) with one end to
the river, the other to the road, and front-
ing south. Behind it is a little garden
path, which, in its wiqtr diversity .
shows signs of being cared br and loved;

some plants being carefully tied up, and
a few com*ewith old boxes and barrels.
There are Ane other signs of refinement,
not too common about the humble dwell-
ings of our country parts; vines trained
about the low door, and rose busi tse
nicely fitted around the old windows, tiat
they seem to have come to stay there 9f
their own accord. Neatness, that go.
angel of an humble home, keeping, an
right with her ever-rastling wigs, hover
round this pretty dwelling. A sall
woodpile is laid up as if by maerpiat!&
rule. No litter of any kibdis asiywI
,to be seen, and one woL_ 'hab
,pVleudid cock with his

can find to make them pick so busily.,
around the sunny doorway.. ..
It is but nine o'clock, andemorning at
that hour, on the fifteenth of November,
had hardly dawned on luxurious dwellers
in great homes; but here how much of
the daily work of life had been accom-
plished. A pale, and in common par-
lance, "unfortunate man," is sitting bol-
stered in an easy chair near a cheerful
fire, his right arm and leg, withered and
useless. His wife, a woman with a mild,
thbonghtfI4 face, sits a-ear the window,
minkig a vest, 4n= with the implements
of .taioring bout her. With every stitch,
! wiAthbor ILidering it she turns hee


eye on the lame man, and addressing
him as country wives use, she says, "Do
you find ydur paper interesting, father ?
Is it not almost time for father's drops ?"
and the answer is, "Yes," or "No," as
may be, but always in a cheerful tone,
which, coming from that poor, mutilated
figure, is startling like a light suddenly
kindled in darkness. Atrig, little lass
is putting the last touches to the morn-
ing's housework. She has cleared away
the breakfast, skimmed the milk, "swept
up," and "mopped up," and is ready to
sit down by her mother, to finish off the
*ork that always accumulates for Satur-
day. Both father's and mother's eyes

often turn to her, and who would not love
to look on a face so beaming with intel-
ligence, so fresh and cheerful. Never
were there prettier or brighter lips, or
mnre beautiful teeth, or in palace or cot-
tage, a more electrifying smile than little
Ruth Hathaway's. Perhaps it derived
this quality from a cast of sadness and
care on her brow; it was a shadow on a
rose. There it was when her father was
brought home from his new factory, with
the flesh torn from his arm and leg, and
there it remained indelible. As to the
rest, the face is pretty pleasing, but not
beautiful; her eyes are rather small and
greyish, and her complexion, clear and


ure, is not brilliant. Her hair not only
oes not curl, and is neither auburn,
chestnut, nor raven, but a very common
rown, and only remarkable for the neat-
ess with which she arranges it on her
ell-shaped head. Ruth is said to be
he image of her father, and she rather
rides herself on this resemblance. W
Ralph Hathaway is reckoned by corn-
on observers, as we have said, an
'unfortunate man;" but could any
amount of ill luck or calamity make that
epithet fitting him whose temperament
is so cheerful, that his sun will break
through the heaviest clouds? His heart
is a never-intermitting fountain of

love to God, and peace and good will to
"Ruth, what are you listening for?"'
asked the father; "I hear nothing but
the factory."
"Nor I, father; I wish we did not
always hear that,-it----"
It puts you in mind of father's acci-
dent? I know, Ruthy, and so it does me;
but then it sets me off thinking how my
life was spared, and how I should never
have known what a good woman mother
is, but for that-'tis not every wife that
would care for such a poor rack as I am."
"0, father I" exclaimed both mother
and child.


"Well, then, it is not every woman
that would give up the thoughtqof bing
the wife of a rich agent for a company,
move out of a nice new house, and stiAh,
stitch from morning to night, to support
her family. Who has a right to be
cheerful if I have not? I can tell you
there's times when the factory makeiy
thoughts go straight up."
Our friend Hathaway's voice was
rather choked; he cleared it, and added,
"but what were you listening to, Ruthy,
"Why, lather, I was listening for the
railroad whistle; we always hear it, you
]how, when the wind is west."


"Why, I heard it, Ruth, when you
wer setting up the dishes."
"Oh, did you, father? then Charlie'
letf is near the post office by this
Don't be, too sure, my child."
"I can't help being sure, mother.
Chqie never fails to write when he says
he will, and this letter is to tell us
whether he can come home to thanks-
giving, and it is only twelve days to
that, and I shall be just sixteen that
"Yes, yes, Ruthy," said the father,
"came what come may, thanksgiving
day will always be thanksgiving to us.'9

THE O Brr IMn, 15
"Oh, there's Colonel Miles I" exclaimed
uth, and she rushed to the d4ooi, ot,
however, without giving her father a
rush of a kiss as she passed. .4
"Colonel Miles 1" she shouted, "can't
6u please to stop at the post office, and
ring our letter from Charlie?" The
colonel was not going to the post e,
but his turning off place was near it, and
it was but the work of two minutes for
Ruth to beg a seat in his little wagon, to
get her mother's leave to go herself to
the post office, to take the chance of the
two miles' walk home if she did not get
a cast, and above all, to obtain leave to
open the letter herself, as soon as re-


ceived, to whichever of the family it
mijt be addressed.
Three hours had passed away, when
Anthony, a colored man, living at Mr.
Gardner's, in the village, brought Mrs.
Hathaway a letter from Ruth. It en-
closed one from Charles. On Ruth's
letter was written in large characters,
4 "Read this first;" and the mother read
as follows:
Dear mother, and father,-Don't feel
too bad. I shall be on my way to New
York when you get this. Miss Emma
Gardner has lent "me ten dollars, and
what clothes I shall want. Father can't
go; and you can't leave father, mother;


and I-I can't sty. Father, you will
keep up mother's spirits, won't yo* I
know it will all come right.
"P. S. Mr. Gardner has gone to Bos-
ton, so Miss Emma and I had no one to
consult with. I would not tell any body
else for the world."
Mrs. Hathaway, pale and trembling,
gave the letter to her husband, while she
read that from her son Charles.
Dear father, and mother, and Ruth,-
I have got into tgne trouble. I ask of
you all not to feel anxious or distressed.
I expect expectc was erased, and hope sul
stituted,)- to get out well, but if I don't,
I shall still keep right side up,' as father


would say. Now be calm, mother, dear.
Ju* before we locked up last night, I
observed a stranger come into the shop;
the doors were closed, and all the clerks
called into the middle of the shop, away
from the counters. Otis Jackson was
standing close to me at the time we were
spoken to. I heard him mutter,' d-n
it,' but I had not the least thought of
what was coming. Mr. Brown stood one
side of the stranger, Mr. Wilson the other.
Mr. Brown spoke: We have been miss-
ing,' says he, 'fine goods for the last
month; a shawl was taken last week;
two yards of costly lace, and one of the
five dollar pocket handkerchiefs are gone


to-day. We have a police man here, and
you must all be searched.. One you
must be guilty. I am sorry for the in-
nocent, but no disgrace will rest upon
them--do your duty, Rushton.' The
policeman began the search. Some of
6ur young men laughed and joked; I
could not, I was afraid it would prove to
be Otis. He was the fourth searched,
nothing was found on him. My turn
came next; the things were found in my
coat pocket, atop of my handkerchief
and every thing, just as if they had been
put there. How the truth is to be found
out, I don't know, but I feel as if it would.
All I ask is, that father will keep up


* mother's spirits, and dear Ruth, only
think how you would all feel if I had
taken the things. I shall write daily, so
don't be anxious.
Ever your loving son and brother,
"P. S. Direct to me, 'care of Robert
Henshaw;' he is my friend among the
There was a dead silence in that home
of the Hathaways, till the father breaking
out into something between a cry and a
laugh, said, "Mother, Charles is an honest
boy, and well trained, and that is comfort
enough; how often have you said to me,
harlie never told a lie in his life.'

"He never did, he never will" sobbed
out the poor mother.
"Come here, mother -kneel down
here-we'll trust him with our Father
and his Father; we'll commit the case
to Him, and then we shall feel better;"
and the still, small voice of their prayer
arose, and God was there.
The next morning, at nine o'clock,
Ruth Hathaway disembarked from a
Hudson steamer, on a New York wharf,
dirty, crowded, and noisy enough to have
confounded a head and heart less clear
and stron of purpose than hers. She
had inquired of the captain the way to
Canal street, where Brown and Wilson's

* shop is, and with her little sack, contain-
ing her change of clothes, in her hand,
she walked straight up Liberty street, to
Broadway. Her quick step had caught
the eye of an omnibus driver, who beck-
oned to her, and she nodding affirma-
tively, jumped into the coach, thinking
"how very kind it was for him to give
her a ride I" She asked a man, one of
four passengers, to tell her when she got
to Canal street, and accordingly the man
pulled the strap, the coach stopped, and
with her habitual impetuous movements,
she jumped out, and dropping a curtsy
to the driver, said, "Thank you, sir."
He, fancying she was tricking him, called


out, "That's cool! Stop that husseyI .
She's dodged her fare!" An impediment
of vehicles had accumulated the passen-
gers on the sidewalk, at the corner of'
anal street. Every eye was turned on
ur poor little stranger. She stopped,
turned round, and in a voice that in-
dicated her honest perplexity, .asked,
"What does he mean ?" "He means to
be paid, my child," said an elderly gen-
tleman, who was struck with the simpli-
city of Ruth's manner; and himself gave .y
the fare to the vociferating driver. Ruth
now complhended her mistake, and re-
paying the sixpence, she said, with her
characteristic good sense, "I am, a

stranger in New York, sir, or I should
have known better. He invited me to
ride with him, and the people where I
live often give rides to strangers."
Her friend again smiled at her simpli-
city, advised her to keep a good lookout,
now she had come to the city, and they
parted; he thinking her sweet smile
might pay her fare, and she to look for
the sign of "Brown, Wilson and Co.,"
which she soon found, and entered the
shop. It was thronged with eager buyers
and civil clerks, intent on their sales.
She looked up and down the ng coun-
ters, all were unknown to her, till at the
extremity of one, she saw Otis Jackson. .


Eis eye met hers, and instantly fell; she
law, that in that glance, he had recog-
ized her. He was her townsman, and
n old schoolmate of her brother, two
ears older than Charles Hathaway.
uth went to the end of the counter
here he stood, and said, "Otis," her
ice was low, but it had a heart-sound;
seemed to come, as it, indeed, did, from
other world than that vanity-fair that

Poised to look at her, and one or two of
e clerks turned their eyes to Otis Jack-
on, expecting him to answer, but he
averted his eye, and went to the ex-
remity of the shop, to receive some new


customers. "Is Mr. Henshaw here?"
asked Ruth. She was civilly answered,
"Yes," and Henshaw was summoned.
"Where is my brother ?" she said. There
were tears in her voice, though none in
her eyes. It was rather an indefinite in-
quiry from a total stranger, but whether
it was her family resemblance to her
brother, or the tone of her voice, supply-
ing all that the words wanted, Henshaw
was sure the inquiry'was for Hathaway,
and coming firm behind the counor,
before he repl~i said, in a low voidc to
Ruth, You ve heard of your brother's
misfortune ?" .,
"Yes; where is he?"


"Why-he--you cannot see him im-
mediately; if you will tell me where you
are staying, I will try to get leave to
come to you in the course of the day,-and
go with you to see him."
"Oh, I must go now. I shall stay
where he is; I have no other place."
"Henshaw I" called out Mr. Brown,
"who are you talking to there ?"
Henshaw went close to him, and ex-
plained. A pretty business this," said
the surly master; "look, she is fingering
over the laces; they are birds of a feather,
brother and sister I" Poor Ruth had un-
consciously placed her hand on the box
of laces. Go to your own business, Hen-


shaw, behind the counter," added Brown;
and then striding up to Ruth, and taking
her by the arm, with a mixture of savage-
ness and familiarity, he said, "walk out
of my shop, or I will send you to the
police office."
"Tell me first where my brother is ?"
"Where all thieves should be-in the
"The Tombs I where are the Tombs ?"
"Go out, and ask along the street-
you'll soon find out."
Ruth went forth with a burning heart.
She walked rapidly a few steps from the
hateful shop, and then stopped, confused
and uncertain what next to do. She


looked up and down the street, and in
the faces of the passers-by. 'No one
heeded her, while it seemed to her that
all the world should know what she felt,
stand what she wanted. She was pro-
ceeding slowly, when suddenly a finger
touched her shoulder, and in a low voice
spoke kindly to her. It was Henshaw's.
His face was agitated and highly colored,
and hardly seemed the same serene, mild
countenance she had first addressed. "I
will go with you now," he'said, "to see
your brother."
Oh, can you? how kind you are."
How much this kindness had cost
Henshaw, Ruth little dreamed. On her


leaving the shop, he had not been able
to repress the expression of his indigna
tion at Brown's inhumanity. Brown
was abusive. Henshaw was hot and
hasty, and declaring his intention of at.
tending the little girl immediately to her
brother, -Brown told him if he then left
the shop, never again to enter it.
"Is it far, sir," asked Ruth, "to that
place ?"
"No; a very short distance."
"I suppose, sir, it is a-- a prison?"
"Yes; a house of detention, where
persons are confined to await their trial."
"Then Charlie is not yet tried ?-he is
not yet condemned, is he ?"


"No, no; not yet."
"Not yet," struck, like a tolling bell,
on Ruth's heart.
"Your brother," resumed- Henshaw,
"wrote to you the circumstances? He
told you,of course, that he was not guilty?"
"No; he did not say that."
"He did not I" exclaimed Henshaw,
in an alarmed tone.
"No, sir; why' should he?" she asked,
speaking for the first time with an as-
sured voice. You woulddaot ask such
a question, if you knew Charles, Mr.
"I do' know him, and I feel a confi-
dence in his integrity,-but----"

"But, what?--oh, do speak out."
"I only hesitated, because I cannot
bear to distreb& you. I fear we shall
have difficulty t proving your brother's
innocence; but we will not talk about
that now. You have never been inside
a prison, and you must try and keep up
good resolution."
Ruth did try. But when she saw that
huge, stern edifice, called the Tombs-
when the massive locks were turned to
admit her--ad when the keeper; having
been requested by Henshaw to permit
the young person with him to see Charles
Hathaway, scarcely noticing her, led
them along the dismal corridors, with


that hardened indifference which use
gives, her heart sunk, and her feet noved
draggingly. They were intercepted and
iimpeded by a party visiting "the prison
from curiosity. It consisted of two or
three elderly people, two very young
ladies, from the country, full of pleasing
excitement, from being, for the first time,
within prison walls-the scene, to their
imaginations, of so much possible ro-
mance-and their cousin, a young city
lawyer, who acted as exponent of the
"Babe," the pirate," said he to them,
"is in that cell, No. 81."
"That horrid wretch we read the ac-

33 -


count of, in the newspaper? How I
should like to see him !"
"There is a still more curious mon-
ster, Cousin Jane, in No. 83--the Ger-
man who burned his wife to death."
"Oh, horrors 1 And who can that be.
between them, in No. 82 ?"
"I don't know; somebody worse than
either, I suppose. Whois it, Mr. Farran?"
"I don't know.his name; a lad com-
mitted for stealing."
"Let us pass, if you please, ladies,"
said Ruth's conductor. Our amateur
visitors stared at Ruth. One said, touch-
ing her cousin's arm, "Oh, Henry, did
you ever see any thing so pale as that


poor girl. Mercy I Do you think she's *
going to be shut up here?"
"No; that is impossible. What inno-
cence, sweetness, and misery" Ruth's
conductor was now unbolting the door
of No. 82. The youngest of the young
ladies, impelled by irrepressible curiosity,
followed close enough to see, when the
door was opened, a handsome youth, pale,
haggard, and sorrowful, bending over a
sheet of paper, on which he was intently
writing. She could see that the paper
was wet with tears. Ruth darted into
the cell; the keeper shut the door, and
rebolting it, said to Henshaw, coolly,
" You may call -e when she is ready to


come out." Henshaw walking to and fro,
unoccupied, in the corridor, presented too
tempting an opportunity to gratify the
young ladies' curiosity; and their cousin
being put up to asking some questions,
they got possession of Charles's story,
and, what was far more iniportant, Hen-
shaw found out, that the inquirer was
Henry Sandley, a young lawyer, whose
very clever management of a criminal
case had, a few weeks before, been much
talked of in the ciy. Henshaw gave
him a retaining fee for his friend, on the
spot, and Sandley engaged to get the
trial put off till testimonials of Charles
Hathaway's good character could be ob-


trained from the country. On those docu-
ments, and on the testimony of his fel-
low clerks, he said, they must found all
their h6pes of clearing him; at the same
time he confessed the chance was small,
against the overwhelming fact of the
stolen goods being founa in Charles's pos-
session. Was there," he asked, ." among
the clerks, any one who could be sus-
pected of the villany of putting the
stolen goods into Hathaway's pocket?,"
Henshaw hesitated, and only said, in
reply, that there was not a clerk in the
shop he should not sooner have suspected
than Hathaway. Henshaw was a man
of strict principles. He Vd suspects-

. 37


he had all along suspected-Otis Jack-
son, but he was too scrupulous to run
the risk of wronging him by the expres-
sion of suspicions that had no proof
After Charles's first moment of sur-
prise at Ruth's appearance-after the
first burst of their young hearts-and
after Ruth had sat for a few moments on
his pallet, beside him, with her arms
linked around his neck, silent and shiv-
ering with emotions, he said, "Now,
Ruthy, we must not give way so; I bear
it very well, only when I sit down to
write home; and then, thinking how
father, and another, and you will fel,


knocks me up. How did yougefltere,
Ruth, so soon ? How did mother bear
it? What did father say ?" Ruth told
her story, and concluded by saying, "To-
morrow, Charlie, we Ahi certainly have
a letter from them."
"We! You cannot stay~ l6, Rlth.
Even if you had any place totay, you
know father and mother want yo* a
great deal more than I do."
"I can stay here, Charlie, and I sbJf
-and they would choose it-and thet's
an end on't."
"But, Ruth, you don't know what a
place this is; nor what New York is for,
an unprotected girl."

4"1oneense, Charlie; I can detect
Where can you sleep ?"
"Sleep? I don't feel much like sleep-
ing; but I ca le there on the floor, or I
can get that man to lock me up in some
empty eUl, like tlis. I can do any thing
but go away and leave you-that I will
not do."
There was a knock at the door, the
.qlts were turned, and Henshaw told
d(arles that a lawyer was waiting to
speak to him. 1
Let him wait one minute," said Ruth,
and taking from her little sack, a bottle
of Cologje ad comb, and brush, pro-


vided by Miss Emma Gardner, she
smoothed her brother's tangled locks,
and restored to his sweet countenance
its habitual aspect. "There, now you
look like our own Charlie,' she said.
Sandley entered, and be did not leave
the cell without being thoroughly con-
vinced that Charles was innocent, and
nearly as well convinced that they should
not be able to prove his innocence; and
so impressed with the love of the brother
and sister, that he resolved kb strain
every nerve in their behalf. He com-
forted Charles by assuring him that he
knew the matron of the prison-that she
was a humane woman-that he would

engage her to furnish his sister a bed in
her own room, and to see that Miss Bath
had every facility in going to and from
her brother's cell.
Please tell them," said Ruth, "I will
only trouble them twice a day. I shall
come to Charles in Afe morning, and go
away in the evening."
"Angel for angel glows with such regard,
Thus whole, deep, selott. Bowers of heaven
Witness it in the cherubs changeless loves;
Earth Ms it in a iter's heart alone."

Ten Ap had passed since Ruth's de-
parture for1lew Yo&k; and on each of
these days fh6 parents had received a
letter full of affection, and of details of
every occurrence that could be put in a

cheerful light. Their children did not
express strong hope, for they would not
embitter a too probable disappointment;
but neither did they impart their fears.
"For, if worst comes to worst," said
Ruth, "mother will bearfit better when
I am with her." 'he deportment of these
young people-their mutual affection-
and the earnest devotion of the sister-
won for them unusual respect and at-
tention from the officers of the prison.
"There those innocent chi n are,"
said the turnkey,*" both innocent, I am
sure of that. There they are, with a
pirate one side of them, and a murderer
the other, enjoying themselves. If that

aint innocence I don't know what is. I
declare, if I don't expect some day, when
I unlock their door, to see the angel ofl
the Lord with them-the same as walked
the fiery furnace I"
An uncommon girl is that," said the
matron. Sometimes when we meet the
vagabonds going along the corridor, just
turned in from the Five Points, she looks
scared, and gathers her clothes close
round her, as if she were afraid of the
plague; yet she'll stay the livelong day
-yes, and till ten or'eleven at night-
in that dismal cell, and talk, and read,
and keep up her brother's spirits. She
begins with the Bible in the morning,

THE orT OLERK. *45
and ends with it at night; an between
times they read out of Dickens and
Punch, and every kind of nonsense Mr.
Henshaw brings; and they laugh to-
gether; and their laugh sounds like the
best of music in a dark night. She is6
wise little thing, too. Mr. Henshaw sent
her a basket full of every kind of notion,
from theconfectioner's. She would not
take them to 82; the dear child gave
them all to me, and asked Mr. Henshaw
-and so modestly, too-if he wauld send
her brother every day a bit of beefsteak,
or a mutton chop, to keep up his health
and spirits. She has been what I call
well trained."


The lst letter received from the
young Hathaway, was dated on Tuesday.
Charles's part expressed not hope, but a
cheerful courage, that he was sure could
not fail him, while his friends had faith
ig him. "You have trained me up, dear
parents, he said, "to believe that the im-
portant thing is, to do right, not to seem
rig_ ,' and now I mean to feet and act
Ruth wrote thus: "The trial comes on
to-morrow. morning. There is nothing
new come to light: so we are preparing
for the worst. The amount of the stolen
articles put into Charles's pocket, is less
than twenty-five dollars, so that they



cannot make an4 larceny out of it;
and he cannot be seIt to Sing Sing, only
over to Blackwell's Island. The period
of his detention there is at the discretion
of the Judge. Mr. Sandley things it
cannot be long, with such testimonials
as Miss Emma has sent to us. Oh,
thanks to her The worst-no, the best
-of itri that Charlie positively refuses
to have'any suspicion thrown on Otis.
Mr. Henshaw feels sure he is the real
culprit, and Mr. Sandley thinks it more
than probable."
You remember his exclamation when
the clerks were to be searched. Charles
has an impression that he then felt



something at his coat pilket, which we
both feel sure was Otis, thrusting the
parcel into it. But we know this would
be no evidence in court: so Charles wont
tell even Mr. Henshaw, or Sandley, of it.
He says time will bring it all out, and,
meanwhile, let Otis have a chance. Is
not he just like father? Let it storm
ever so horridly, he always beves it
will be fair weather to-morrow. Mr.
Henshaw feels certain that Otis will
prove the rogue at last; 'and,' so he
says, he don't see the use of sacrificing
an honest fellow to him, in the mean-
time.' He watches him as a cat does a
mouse. The reasons of Mr. Henshaw's

48 '

suspicions are lset.Otis is out late at
night, and he comes late to the shop in
morning. He dresses far beyond his
means, and goes often to places of amuse-
ment, especially to the theatre, where,
Mr. Henshaw says, clerks never should
go; and Mr. Henshaw says, he has been
seen in 'not te best company,' at the
theatre. i don't know quite what he
means by that; but I surmise it is some-
thing awful. The people where Charlie
boarded were. very fond of him; and
they will give their testimony, that he
was perfectly regular in his habits; and
Mr. Sandley will call on Messrs. Brown
and Wilson, to testify as to his conduct


in the shop. Allthis,Mr. Sandley sayg
may not overbalance the one great cir.
cumstance against him; but this with
the documents from Miss Emma, Mr,
Sandley says, will go a. great way with
the Governor.. So, if Charlie is sent to
the Island, I shall go straight to Albany;
for the living voice, with a throbbing
heart under it, mother, is better than a
dead writing. And if we don't get a
pardon, why then patience, dear father
and mother-heavenly patience I-such
as you, dearest father, have shown us
ever since we can remember; and you,
dear mother-only just borrow a little
hope and cheerfulWnes from father, and


be sure-be sure it will all come right;
and Charlie will shine out to the world
as he shines to us, who are above the
clouds, and can see the sun all the while;
and if the worM never knows, still can-
not we be content and thankful ?-We
will. So, dearest mother, take courage
God will help us all, and Ie all soon
be with you.
"P. S. I could not feel easy not to
make one effort with Otis. I thought if
he had plunged us in this trouble, he
would feel when he came to see me, and
remembered the days when we were
playmates, and happy together. I saw
him. I don't know what I said. My


heart was full, and it poured itself out;
but I got no satisfaction. He denied-
refused. But, oh I dear mother, I feel
surer than ever, that he is the guilty
one. His eye did not once meet -mine;
and he looked. red and pale, by turns;
and when I came away the tears were
running 94 i his cheeks. Who would
not rather be Charlie ?"
It is "Thanksgiving Day"-a day of
old consecration, in New England, to
family festivity and family union-a day
of merry meetings, and merry makings
-a day for rustic weddings, and all sorts
of pleasant doings, and starting points
in life-a day, like other anniversaries,


fraught with enjoyment to the young,
who have not yet felt the severing of
heart chords.
The thanksgiving day connected with
our story, came in heavily enough to the
Hathaways. It was Thursday. Ruth's
last letter was dated the preceding Tue&
day. The trial was appointAr Wednes-
day morning, and as it woult.4e deemed
a small affair by the municipal authori-
ties, (albeit involving the happiness of
an entire family,) it would probably oc-
cupy but an hour or two; and if it went
against them, Ruth would leave New
York in an afternoon's boat for Albany.
The day had come in with a furious


easterly snow storm. Mr. Hathaway was
refolding Ruth's letter, after reading it
for at least the twentieth time, when a
sleigh stopped at his door; and.Colonel
Miles, shaking the snow from his lion-
skin coat, and stamping it from his feet,
opened the door. "A pretty tedious
storm thi* neighbors," he said. "No
news, of course, since the letter I brought
you from the post office yesterday ?"
"No, sir; none," replied Mrs. Hath-
away, we could not expect it, could we,
"Of course not, ma'am; and I mis-
trust we shall have no mail to-day. The
river will feel this cold snap. Ruthy,


poor little girl, should be, according to
her letter, at Albany to-day; but I thipk
there'll be no boat up. However, if there
is a mail, you'll be sure of a letter: so I
shall go on to the post office, after meet-
ing, and wait till the stage comes in."
"How thankful we ought to be for
such a kind neighbor as thw colonel,"
said good Mrs. Hathaway, as the door
closed after him.
Yes, mother, we have a great deal to
be thankful for, on the right hand and
the left, and we must not make a poor
mouth if we have our share of trouble."
I know I ought to feel as you do,
father; but I can't help thinking, all the

time, what is Ruthy to do after Charlie
is sentenced to that desolate island."
"Do? why she'll do the right thing.
Now, mother, wipe off your tears, and
don't forget it's thanksgiving day; let
us keep it. And who has more reason.
Is not it Ruthy's birth day? To be
sure, the..children have been on a
troubled sea, but have not they lain
their course well? ,You know I have
nothing to do but tnsit here, and read,
and ruminate; and ,aappy life it has
been to me, since I .Wquite overset as
to outside prosperity. I have got a
habit of looking inward; and I have
come to the conclusion, that it is not the

circumstances we are in that matters,
but how they find us, and what they
make of uns. Look at our dear children,
mother, how they have held fast their
integrity. Look *;rCharlie; calm and
manly, and so generous about Otis. He
is not of those that hold to misery loving
company-r-a mean company-that. And
dear little Ruthy; her love for her bro-
ther has carried her, as it were, through
fire and water I tell you, mother, we
did not know the children till now. A
real thanksgiving day it shall be to us."
Poor Mrs. Hathaway would have smiled
her assent, but it was a sunbeam vainly
struggling through clouds. "I'll'try to


make it seem like thanksgiving," she
said.: so she brought forth a provision
basket, sent by their kind friend, Miss
Gardner. "What a lovely, plump tur-
key," exclaimed Hathaway, as his wife
proceeded to unpack the basket, "and
cranberry sauce, I dare say, in that little
jar? Yes; just like Miss Emma, to
think of that. What is in that covered
dish? Oysters, I declare! just what I
told her I liked best, when she asked me
the question. Mince pie pumpkin pie l
apple pudding tarts What's that?-
what's that, mother ?"
"It.feels like a loaf of cake, and it is
marked, 'for dear Ruth.' "

"Well; no disrespect to the rest of the
world. But Miss Emma is thorough to
poor folks. A bottle of wine, too Well;
Miss Emma and I are of opinion, that it's
right for temperate people to take a
cheerful glass once in a while. You are
a teetotaller, mother; but you won't ob-
ject to my 'making my heart glad,' ac-
cording to Scripture. Now, would it not
have been a shame for us not to keep
the day?"
Mrs. Hathaway assented by proceed-
ing to get the dinner in progress; and
when the turkey was fairly roasting in
the little stove-oven, Hathaway aid,
"Come here, mother-I can't kneel, you


59 *

know, I've never had that satisfaction
since my leg was broken; but I trust
my heart is in the right position-kneel
down here on my well side, and we'll
have our'worship, though it be a dark
day outside and in." The wife knelt,
resting her troubled brow on the arm of
her husband's chair. Hathaway's spirit
of cheerful gratitude shone like a sun on
all the salient points of their lives. God's
mercies seemed to be sown at broadcast
around them. He thanked God for the
peace, prosperity, and progress of the
country-for their abounding political
advantages and Gospel privileges; not
in an inexpressive mass, but in such


detail, that each seemed to have made its
impress on his heart. He spoke of the
rich harvest of the year, with a glow
that would have left no one to believe
that not an ear of it had beet turned
into his garners. He thanked God for
his pleasant home, and his well-covered
board-for kind neighbors and bountiful
friends--for the dear mother, with in-
dustry that never tired, and love that
never abated. He thanked him for his
own health-for painless limbs-for a
contented mind, and a spirit of enjoy-
ment. His voice trembled slightly when
he came to mention his children--" his
dear, absent children." He paused for

one instant, and then added, with a sin-
cere tone of courage, and heavenly glad-
ness, "We thank Thee that they have
manifested themselves Thy children, too.
Though they have passed through the
waters, they have not overwhelmed
them; and through the fire, it has not
scorched them. We thank Thee that
Thou hast given them thus early to see
the value of innocence, and the import-
ance of affection." When he finished,
Mrs. Hathaway rose comforted, and said,
"I almost forgot it stormed, father."
And she did proceed with a step some-
what lighter, and a heart somewhat less
faint, with her preparations for dinner,


or, as our country folk still call it, supper.,
Her eye turned often and anxiously to the
clock. She looked out on the road the
colonel was to come-remarked that 4
storm grew heavier-and wondered again
and again, if Ruth were on her way to
Albany. Presently a sleigh bell was
heard; but it was not Colonel Miles',
but another neighbor, returning from
meeting, who called with a message from
the kind colonel. "The mail was not
in," he sent them word; "it might not
come till dark; but he would wait till it
did come."
"The colonel is wine and oil too," said
Hathaway. "It has been so from the



beginning of this trouble. If we have
a disappointment, there's a comfort
comes hand-in-hand with it."
fJhe days, as we have said, were at
their shortest. Mrs. Hathaway moved
slowly, the afternoon was very dark, and
the shadows of the stormy evening were
thickening, when the father and mother
sat down to their thanksgiving meal.
Mr. Hathaway's grace was much longer
than. usual, but there was no allusion to
their affliction. He could not now trust
his voice for this, his body and mind
were beginning to feel the pressure. It
was only half past three. he wondered
it was so dark I and againmnd agan, he

wiped his eyes. He suffered'""mother,"
to cut up for him his favorite bit of tur-
key. He took, according to our rural
custom, a little of all the various veget-
ables and condiments," and though he
remarked, "there was never a tenderer
turkey," there seemed, never to have
been a tougher one in the chewing. As
to the poor mother, she could not eat,-
she loathed the sight of food; and when
her husband, who had trial not to ob-
serve her as she moved the dishes on the
table, rst out of their places, and then
into-them; and turned her food over and
over on her plate, without touching it,-
said'Poor mother, there's no use in



trying 1" she moved back her chair, and
took refuge in her little, adjoining bed
room. There she sat by the window,
looking up the road as long as she could
discern fence or tree, as landmark. The
night settled down on the earth, as it
had on her spirit. The snow no longer
fell, but the wiid rse, and gusts came
sweeping downDhe hill side, and roaring
in the chimney, and penetrating every
crevice of te slight tenetnent.. She
shook, as if an ague,"vre on her, as she
returned to her husband, and drew her
chair close to him. "It'had best light
a candle, mother," said he; "Colonel
Miles will want a light to guid~ im

Tea Com oLa. Of
through this rii bg storm; light two,
and set them in tlh window." She lighted
aid placed thbn, and bt down again;
the table was left standing. A woman
accustomed to perform the domestic
offices through all the routine of life-to
go steadily en, come what will, joy or
sorrow,-with the periodical preparations
that sustain and solace animal life, must
be paralyzed before she neglects them.
AY so was poor Mrs. IHthaway. The
thought of her good, honest, true, ever-
cheerftl b6y, in 'the convict's uniform,
among the motley gang of culprits,
and committed vagrants on Blckwell's
Islao such as she had head it &e-


sct bied, with the neglect, misrule, and
wretchedness that pr&aiiled there-the
thoughts of heilittle Ruth,--where wgs
she this cruel, stormy night? No won-
der the poor woman had left the table
standing as it was when she and her
husband rose from it. No wonder she
sat now leaning on the arm of her hus-
band's chair, listening for the colonel's
sleigh bells, and hearing only the howl-
ing storm, and not heeding it, she heard
her husband's little consolations dropped
in every now and then, "if the colonel
comes at all, he'll come soon;" and with
a sigh (most unwonted sound,) from that
bosom of sunny cheerfulness; "it does


not much signify whether he come to-
night, for it's certain no mail can come
through to-day. The colonel's folks will
be expecting him.- I should not wonder
if he drove through, bad as it is!" A
long-long pause. "Mercy on us I that
is a sleigh bell "-A breathless pause.
" They're gone by! I do wish the colonel
was well home-his people will feel
dreadfully, and it's all on our account.
It was a pity he staid, we might have
known there would have been no news
from them to-night Another pause,
and a howling blast of wind, and the
poor mother asked, "what will hmme of
Ruth if she is osthe road this Weather?"



"Mother, look to Him who tempers
the wind to the shorn lamb. If she gets
Charlie's pardon, she'll be paid for it all."
Pardon I" exclaimed Mrs. Hathaway,
in the only proud tone that ever oame
from her; "I'd not ask pardon for the
innocent boy."
"Good I mother, good I keep to that
brave feeling, and we'll weather the
storm." But it seemed that all the
mother's courage had spent itself in that
one outbreak; she again sank into des-
perate, motionless silence. "It is a bad
night, murmured Hathaway, and worse
in-doors than out and sad it was to
see the miseries that belong only to ill-


doing, gathering over this little family,
where patience and pious content had so
long reigned.
Suddenly Mrs. Hathaway raised her
head-her heart again fluttered. She
dared not speak, but as the wind for.a
moment lulled, she thought she heard ap-
proaching bells. Her husband's slower
senses heard them too. She started to
her feet. "They have stopped here it
is the colonel I" she exclaimed; and in
another instant the outer door of the
little porch was thrown open, and the
inner door, and Ruth rushed in, and
threw herself into her mother's arms, ex-
claiming, "Cleared I cleared I cleared!"


Softly and slowly after her came Charles,
thoughtful and considerate, even at this
moment, and holding back lest he should
overwhelm his mother with sudden joy.
What followed can scarcely be described.
There were loud exclamations and hys-
terical bursts of emotion, and then a
deep silence-first broken by the colonel,
who stood aloof, tears of sympathy run-
ning down his cheeks fast enough to
melt away the ice that stiffened his
whiskers. Goodness, mercy, Hath-
awayl" he exclaimed. "Your withered
arm is round Charlie's neck And so
it was, that arm that had scarcely had a
perceptible movement for years, had re-

ceived a mysterious energy from the cur-
rent of feeling that stirred his whole
being. Every eye was now turned to
" father;" mother and children gathered
round him, and embraced him, the with-
ered arm fell, but from the tongue rose
as joyful a thanksgiving as ever burst
from a grateful, relieved, faithful heart.
Well-good night, friends, good
night 1" said Colonel Miles. "I go home
the happiest man in Berkshire, except
you, Hathaway."
"Oh, no, stay with us, and eat sup-
per," replied Hathaway. "We'll have
the best thanksgiving in Massachusettst
The table is setalready," he added,


with his habitual chuckling laugh; and
"do stay-do stay, dear colonel," came
from mother, Charles, and Ruth. But
the colonel could on no account stay.
"His own wife and children were wait-
ing at home," he said; "and now he
began to think considerable of them;
and what decent father ever staid from
his own children on thanksgiving day."
And with the shbwering thanks and
blessings of the Hathaways, he departed.
There are moments when tbe outer crust
of the undemonstrative Anglo-American
breaks away, and shows the glowing
fires beneath it.
Now it was that al.Miss. Emma Gard-



near's bountiful provisions came into
play. The reheated turkey, oysters,
mince pie, and pumpkin pie, tarts, and
sauces, melted away before the keen ap-
petites of our happy family. Ruth's
cake alone was set aside. "Mr. Hen-
shaw," she said, in a low voice, to her
mother, "talked of coming up the next
day." Hathaway averred, as he asked
for another and another bit, that he had
not eaten a full meal since Rutb, went
away; his good wife said every mouth-
ful had tasted bitter; and Ruth did not
believe that any thing could taste good
in New York. But these were only
parenthetical remarks, while every par-



ticular of their late experience was re-
lated. Our brief summary must be in
strong contrast to the diffuseness of our
It seemed, that on the day proceeding
that on which Charles was to have his
trial, a treacherous friend of a noted
young woman, one Matilda Johnson,
came to Henshaw, and told him, that if
he would go to the theatre that evening,
he would see Otis Jackson in the pit-
that Otis would join Matilda Johnson as
she came down from the gallery, when
the play was over-and that this Matilda
would wear a certain shawl, which had
been missed from Broyw and Wilson's, a

few days previous to Charles Hathaway's
committal. Henshaw accordingly went
to the theatre with Sandley. A police
officer, well acquainted with Miss Ma-
tilda, was directed to keep his eye on her.
Every thing wap right. The miserable
parties were followed to their lodging.
Henshaw identified the shawl. Various
other articles, subtracted from the shop
of Messrs. Brown and Wilson, were found
among Miss Johnson's clothes; and she,
and the wretched young man whom she
had caught in her toils, and ruined, were
committed to the Tombs. Jackson con-
fessed that he thrust into Charless
pocket the stolen goods found there, and


Charles was, of course, dismissed honor-
ably, without a trial. Even Mr. Brown
and Wilson," Ruth said, in concluding
the story, "had the grace to say they
were sorry for what had happened; and
they offered Mr. Henshaw and Charles
much better terms than they were on
before, if they would return to them;
but Mr. Henshaw is not the man to be
whistled off and on, at the pleasure of
Messrs. Brown and Wilson. He is already
engaged at the first shop in the city,
where they have fixed prices-where, he
says, they despise the Brown and Wilson
fashion, of asking one price, and taking
another-of telling the customer, that


goods cost more than they really did
cost-or, that they have sold them for
what they never did sell them for-or,
that some grandee, Mrs. So-and-So, Jas
bought such-and, 'that there is not
another in the shop, or city'--or, any
other of those contemptible lies by which
dishonorable dealers impose on.foolish
women; and by which, Mr. Henshaw
says, father, they corrupt their clerks;
and, teaching poor boys to lie for them,
it cannot be wondered at if they end in
stealing for themselves."
And it does not end there," said Mr.
Hathaway; "the covetousness, tricking,
and lying, that are practised in small


dealings, or carried into larger ones. Our
good name is endangered, and our coun-
try degraded. The Browns and Wilsons
become, speculators, and repudiators.
Henshaw is a sensible man, Ruth."
." I guess he is, father; and a true
friend. There was nothing that could
be thought of that he did not do for us,
and crowned it all, at the last,"-and
little Ruth struck her hands joyously to-
gether-" by getting Charlie a post next
to himself, in the shop of A. T. Stewart
and Co.'"




IT was a summer's morning. I was
awakened by the rushing of a distant
engine, bearing along a tide of men to
their busy day in a great city. Cool sea
breezes stole through the pine tree, em-
bowering my dwelling; the aromatic
pines breathed out their reedy music;
the humming bird was fluttering over
the honeysuckle, at my widow; the grass


glittered with dew drops. A maiden
was coming from the dairy across0 the
lawn, with a silver mug of new milk in
her hand; by the hand she led a child.
The young woman was in the full beauty
of ripened and perfect womanhood. Her
step was elastic and vigorous; moderate
labor had developed without impairing
her fine person. Her face beamed with
intelligent life, conscious power, calm
dignity, and sweet temper. "How sweet
is life to this girl l" I thought, as, re-
spected and respecting, she sustains her
place in domestic Jife, distilling her pure
influences into the little creature she
holds I~ the hand! And how sweet

Un sB SWuT.

then was life -to that child Her little
form was' so erect and strong-so firmly
knit to outward life-her step so free
and joyo!tt-her fair, bright hair, so
bright, that it seemed as if a sunbeam
came from it: it lay parted on that brow,
where 'an infinite capacity had set its
sea. And that spiritual eye-so quickly
perceiving-so eagerly exploring and
those sweet red lips-love, and laughter,
and beauty, are there. Now she snatches
a tuft of powers from the grass-now she
springs to meet her playmate, the young,
frisky dog-and n&f she is shouting
playfully: lie has- knocked her over, and
they are rolling on the turf together


Before three months passed away, she
had lain down the beautiful garments of
her mortality: she had entered the gates
of immortal life; and those who followed
her to its threshold, felt that, to the end,
and in the end, her ministry had been
most sweet. "Life is sweet" to the
young, with their unfathomable hopes-
their unlimited imaginings. It is sweeter
still with the varied realization. Heaven
has provided the ever-changing loveli-
ness and mysterious process of the out-
ward world in the inspirations of art-
in the excitement of'~nagnanimous deeds
-in the close knitting of feotions-in
the joya of the mother-the toils and


harvest of the father-in the countless
blessings of hallowed domestic life.
"Life is sweet" to the seeker of N.
dom, and to the lover of science; and
all progress, and each discovery is a joy
to them.
"Lif is sweet" to the true lovers of
their race; and the unknownii tL un-
praised good they do by word, or look, or
deed, is joy ineffable.
But not alone to the wise, to the
lear.ed,'to the young, to the healthful,
to the gifted, to tBelIppy, to the vigor-
ous doer of good,--is life sweet: for the
patient suerer it has a divine sweet-

LU I swaBT.

"What," I asked a friend,. who had
bqen on a delicious country excursion,
df you see that bet pleased you?"
My friend hau cultivated her love of
moral, more than her perception of phy-
sical beauty, and I was not surprised
when, after replying, with a smie, that
she would tellme honestly, she went on
to say: "My cousin took me to see.a
man who had been .a clergyman in. the
Methodist connection. He had suffered
from a nervous rheumatism, and from a
complication of diseases, aggravated by
ignorant dugging. Every muscle in his
body, excepting thoms whidi move his
eyes and tongue, is paralyzed. His body

- UL rCIs IwIrM

has become as rigid as iron. His libs
have lost the human form. BIrh
been lain on a bed for seven years.' B
suffers seate pain. He has invented a
qhair which afords him some alleviation.
His feelings are fresh and kindly, and
his mind is unimpaired. He reads eon-
stantly. His book is fixed in frame
before him, and he manages to turn the
leaves by an instrument which he moves
with his tongue'. He has an income of
thirty dollars I This pittance, by the
vigilant economy of his wife, and some
aid from kind, rustic neighbors, brly
the year round.' His wib is the most
gentle, patient, ad devoid of .loving


nurses. She never has'too much to do,
tjdo all-well; no wish or thought goes
beyond the unvarying circle of her con-
jugal duty. Her love is as abounding
as his wants-her cheerfulness as sune
as the rising of the sun. She has not
for years slept two hours consecutively.
"I did not know which most to rever-
ence, his patience or hers and so I said
to them. 'Ahl' said the good man, with
a most serene smile, 'life is still sweet
to me; how can it but be so with such
a wife ?'"
,And surely life is sweet to her, who
feels every hour of the day the truth of
this graoioul acknowledgment.

wrI Is SWEET. w
Oh, ye, who live amidst alternate sun-
shine and showers of plenty, to 'whom
night brings sleep, and daylight freshness
-ye murmurers and complainers, who
fret in the harness of ife, till it gall you
to the bone-who recoil at the lightest
burden, and shrink from a passing cloud,
-consider the magnanimous sufferer,
my friend described, and learn the divine
art that can distil sweetness from the
bitterest cup I

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