ONE DOLLAR PER ANNUM INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
Thursday Horning, May 10, 1860.
J?clttfcb |loctrn.
THE LAMP AT SEA.
BY JsOXUFKLLOW.
The night was made for cooling shade,
For silence and for tleep ;
And when 1 was a child I laid
My hands upon my Breast and prayed,
And sank to slumbers deep.
Childlike as then, I lie to-niglit
And watch my lonely cabin light.
Each movement of the swaying lamp
Shows how the vessel reels ;
And o'er her deck the billows tramp,
And all her timbers strain and cramp.
With every shock she feels :
It starts and shudders while it burns,
Aud in its hinged socket turns.
Now swinging slow, and slanting low,
It almost level lies,
And yet I know, while to and fro
I watch the seeming pendule go,
With restless fall and rise,
The steady shaft is still upright,
Poising its little globe of light.
O, hand of (!od ! O, lamp of peace!
O, promise of my soul!
Though weak and tossed, and ill at case,
Amid the roar of smiting seas—
The ship's convulsive roll—
t own, with love and tender awe,
Yon perfect type of faith and law !
A heavenly trust my spirits calm I
My soul is tilled with light!
The ocean sings His solemn psalms ;
The wild winds chant ; 1 cross my palms;
Happy as if to-night,
Under the cottage roof again,
1 heard the soothing summer rain.
.§■ clcc tc b Ca 1
THE MIDNIGHT WATCH.
CHAPTER 11.
"O, 'tis your soul
1 know him not.
I'll be no father to so vile a son."
lion-ley ( ll'omcti .\cccr Vcxetl).
" Yet 1 have comfort, if by any means
1 get a blessing from my father's hand.".— ldem.
Gerald sat with a troubled and moody air
upon one of the stone benches of the low hall,
which, fohmrly intended, perhaps, as a sort
of waiting room for the domestic# of the es
tablishment, was now used as the guard room.
Although his thoughts were not upon the ob
jects around him, he seemed to be assiduously
employed in cleaning and arranging his ac
coutrements —for, iu spite of his birth and the
fortune bequeathed to him by his uncle, he
was still left to fulfil the very humblest and
most irksome duties of a military life.
It had been part of the severe Colonel
Lyle's system of education to inure his adopt
ed son to every toil and privation that might
give heal tit aud hardihood to mind as well as
body ; and upou the same principle, when he
enrolled the bov as a volunteer in his own
troop, he had compelled hi:n to serve as a
common soldier. The Colonel's strict and
somewhat overwrought sense of justice, as
well as his peculiar political opinions, had led
liim, moreover, to declare, that whatever the
artificial position of his adopted son in the
supposed scale of society, it should be by mer
it only that the young volunteer should rise
from the ranks through the various grades of
military distinction ; and upou his death-bed
he had urged his friend Seaman to pursue the
same system, as long as Gerald should feel
disposed to follow under him the career of
arras. Although received, therefore, with
certain reservations, upon an equality of foot
ing into the family of Colonel Seaman, and in
some measure looked upon as the accepted
lover and future husband of the Colonel's fair
daughter, young Gerald found himself con
demned to go through all the inferior duties
aud occupations of a common soldier.
Long accustomed, however, by bis uncle's
strict and unbending system of training, to
hardships little regarded by a roughly uur
tured youth of his years, he uever thought of
murmuring against this harsh probation ; and
if, now, he pursued his occupation with a
troubled brow, it was far other thoughts that
caused that look of doubt and uneasiness.
The vaguest suspicions of his mistress's
fickleness were sufficient to excite the jealous
temperament of a youth like Gerald, whose
naturally ardent and passionate disposition,
whose hot Clynton blood had been only sub
dued, not quenched, by the strict education of
his severe, cold uncle Lyle. But there were
thoughts and feelings of a far more momen
tous and harassing nature which now assailed
him. The packet which he had discovered
among the bushes growing close upon the par
apet wall, aud which bad evidently been con
veyed by stealth within the precints of the
fortress, borne the following superscrip
tion : " For the Lord Clynton—these."
It was Lord Clynton, then—it was his own
father, who was a prisoner within those walls.
Under se.d auspices were his filial affections
now first awakened. lie was aware of the
danger that must attend his unhappy parent
should he be discovered to be, as was proba
bly the case, one of those obstinate maliguants,
as they were termed, who, after having made
reluctant submission when the fate of arms
proved fatal to Charles I, had again joined
the royalist troops when the staudard was
raised for the young prince, and fought iu his
cause, until the final overthrow at Worcester
forced them into flight from the country, it
was in an attempt of this kind that the pri
soner had been taken. Gerald knew how al
most certain would be the old cavalier's con
demnation under such circumstances. Bat
there were evidently hopes of saving him.—
Communications, it was clear, had been estab
lished with the prisoner by persons outside the
walls of the fortress. It proba
hly, that by permission of the commander, the
prisoner was allowed to take the air for a cer
tain time daily, in the small court beneath the
walls of the tower in which lie was confined;
and this opportunity was watched, it would
seem, for the couveytftiee of the comiuuuicatiou
into the hand of the prisoner.
The conflicting struggle which had arisen
in Gerald's mind, uow gave place to an over
powering feeling, lie was determined at all
risks, and at whatever sacrifice to himself, to
save his father. The breach of trust—the de
reliction from his honor—the probability of
being obliged to renounce the hand of the girl
he loved, it detected in assisting in a plot to
favor the evasion of the old cavalier—all fad
ed before his sight, and appeared as uaught
when compared with the hope of rescuing his
father from his cruel situation. What the na
ture of the scheme was which Lord Clyuton's
friends seemed to be devising, iu order to effect
his escape, or how far lie could assist in such
a project, be was unable to divine. But the
one thought was there, and mastered all—the
thought that, ou opening the way of escape
before his father, he should be able to sav,
" Father, bless thy long-estranged son ; it is
lie who saves thee." The rest was doubt, con
fusion, and darkness.
Agaiu and again did he turn ever in his
mind a thousand projects by which to aid in
the evasion of the prisoner. Again aud again
did lie endeavor to conjecture what might
have beeu already purposed. All appeared to
him to be impracticable on the one hand, and
a mystery on the other. Already the con
sciousness of his secret induced him to look
upon every one with suspicions eyes, as an
enemy or a spy upon his conduct. But most
of all, with that prejudice which pointed him
out his supposed rival at the object of pecu
liar hatred, did lie look upon Murk May wood
whose violent party feelings,* and fierce Repub
lican abliorence of royalty and the adherents
of the fallen royalty of England, had already
manifested themselves in such frequent out
breaks siucc liis arrival as a fresh recruit in
the troop —that Mark May wood who, even
now, kept watch over his father's prison, and
might, if lie discovered the packet which was
intended for the old man's hand, tlnvart for
ever the otiiy means of the unfortunate prison
er's escape. And as this thought eaine across
him, Gerald counted, in an agoney of mind,
nil the possibilities by which the packet might
meet the sentinel's eye. With beating heart
lie reviewed, in imagination, every leaf which
hid it, every overhanging brunch which might
add to its concealment. Bitterly did lie re
proach himself in his heart, that he had thrown
it back to his hiding place so hastily and care
lessly upon hearing tlie approach of the guard.
It seemed to hfm that if the packet were dis
covered, it would have been he who had de
livered up his father, who bad betrayed the
secret 011 which depended his father's safety.
The thought, however, that the evening was
closing in, somewhat consoled him. Eternally
long seemed the time spent in this mute agony
of doubt. At length the hour sounded for
the relief of the guard, and Gerald's heart
beat painfully. Now he might learn whether
M avwood had made the dreaded discovery. —
placed himself as if by chance in the p i sage
through which the guard had to pass with 1 lie
report to the Governor, aud gazed with scruti
nizing look into the face of the young soldier
as he went by, as if iie could read an answer
to his dreaded doubtsin those dark eye?. Mark
May wood's face, to which, in spite ol its beau
ty, the closely clipped darle hair iu roundhead
fashion, contrasting with the thick mustache,
gave a harsh and hard look, was stern, frown
ing, aud expressive of that sullen severity
which was usually put on by the enthusiasts
of the day. In such a case Gerald could read
nothing to dissipate his doubts, but everything
to strengthen tliem. Anxiously did he await
the return of the relieved sentinel to the guard
room. But when Mark May wood came at
last, lie interchanged'but a few sentences with
the older and sterner of his comrades, said
not a word to Gerald, aud, taking a well-worn
Bible in his hand, flung himself 011 a bench,
and soon seemed lost in serious devotion. Once
iu truth, Gerald fancied that lie raised his eye
to scan him, as if with scorn, and then indeed
lie first remarked that Maywood twisted be
tween his fingers a rose. For a moment his
aversion to the young soldier, as an enemy to
be dreaded for bis father's sake, was absorbed
in his hatred to him as a suspected rival.—
That rose? how had he obtained it? Could
Mildred be so base as to encourage the hand
some young enthusiast, who, in spite of his
gloomy character, had evidently, to Gerald's
jealous eye, shown himself feelingly alive to
the attraction of pretty Mistress Mildred's
charms ? For a moment the feeliugs of jeal
ousy so completely overpowered all others,
that lie started forward to challenge the young
man to account for the possession of that rose,
lint again the thoughts of his father came
across him Buch a challenge must necessa
rily involve him in a quarn-I—a quarrel would
be followed-by an arrest for breach of disci
pline —a confinement of some hours, during
which lie, who might have aided bis father's
escape, might perhaps have left him to perish;
and swaliowing with an effort all the bitter
feelings that almost choked him, he again turn
ed away and sought his hard coucb.
Sleep he could not; or if ho dozed, the
conflicting feelings of doubt, apprelieusiou
for his father, and burning jeafousy, still flit
ted through his mind like a troubled and tor
menting nightmare ; and the next day Gerald
arose with the earliest dawn, in a state of
mind the uneasiness of which seemed intolera
ble. The morning broke—the day advanced
—and as uo new measures seemed to be taken
with respect to the prisoner, Gerald's tnind be
gan by jiegrees to be relieved from its tremb
ling apprehensions as to the discovery of the
packet; eagerly did he await the hour of his
own guard, which in the course of the morn
ing, was annouueed to him to be at noon, and
as usual iu the small inuer court, llis heart
beat with impatience to sec whether the se
cret communication still remained in its hiding
place, and to facilitate, if possible, the means
.of its lulling into his father's hands.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
At length the hour arrived—accompanied
by the corporal and the other soldiers of the
guard, he was taken to relieve his predeces
sors on the post, aud after an interchange of
the usual formalities, was left alone, llis first
impulse was to examine the bush into which,
on the previous evening, had been flung the
packet. After looking carefully around him,
and, in spite of the absorbing though which
now occupied his attention, casting 011 c glance,
accompanied by a troubled sigh, upon Mil
dred's window, he approached the wall. Be
fore, however, he could put aside the leaves,
several heavy steps resounded through the
vaulted passage, aud Gerald drew back from
the wall with all the seeming unconcern he
could assume.
The persons who entered the court were the
commander, Lazarus Seaman himself, and
three soldiers. With a grave salute, aud a
few words to Gerald, the Colmel gave direc
tions that the heavy gate of the prison tower
should be opened, and motioning to ouc ot the
soldiers who accompanied him to remain be
hind, he entered the tower with the two oth
ers, ami was immediately heard mounting [lie
winding stair leading to the room above, iu
which the prisoner was confined.
Aguiu did Gerald's heart beat thick with
apprehension. What could be the purpose of
this visit of the Governor to his prisoner ?
Had a report of the previous evening been
the cause of this fresh examination ? Did it
result from the discovery of the secret packet?
Gerald trembled—a moment's search among
those bushes would convince litrn of the reali
ty or vanity of his agonizing fears, and yet
lie did not dare to stir a step to solve his
doubts. The eye of the other soldier was up
on him. He listened with straining ears to
catch the faintest sound that came from the
tower, as if he could thereby know what pass
ed in the chamber of the prisoner ; striving,
at the same time, to master ail ex pics-ion of
his feelings, lest his secret should be read upon
his brow by the very anxiety to conceal it.—
L'seless effort ; for the soldier who remained
behind paid little heed to him, aud would
have been totally unable to comprehend his
motives for uneasiness, had even its exposition
been visible.
At length the steps of the Governor and
his party were heard descending the stairs of
the tower. As they emerged into the court,
Gerald started with a fresh burst of uncon
trqltable agitation. The old cavalier followed
the Roundhead Colonel. With a few more
words to signify to liis prisoner that the time
allotted to him to take air iu that court was
short, Lazarus Seaman again retired.
The soldier, already mentioned, remained
behind as a sort of extra sentinel, or watch,
to prevent all possibility of escape, during the
time the prisoner was permitted to promenade
the open space.
Gerald was in the presence of his father !
With what overpowering emotion did lie
now long to throw himself into those arms,
and be pressed to his father's heart ! And
yet the utmost caution was necessary. A
word might deprive him of all power to assist
the prisoner in his projected escape. It was
with the utmost difficulty that lie restrained
liis feelings, and watched the noble form of
the old cavalier as he paced slowly aud sadly
up and down the court.
That, then, was his father !
The dark mourning habit which Lord Clyn
ton wore in imitation of many of the Royalist j
party, after the execution of their unfortunate
master; although soiled and torn, gave him an
air of dignity in spite of its look of sadness ;
aud the long grizzled beard, which had evi
dently remained untriinmed, having been left
probably to grow uucultured as a sign of sor
row, bestowed upon liiin an imposing expres
sion, in spite of its neglected state.
Although cast down and worn out by disap
pointment and vexation, there was evidently a
feverish and testy impatience in the old man's
manner, which was perhaps a symptom of the
family temperament ; and Gerald observed
that from time to time he looked sharply at
both the sentinels, and then cast a furtive
glance at the clump of bushes near the wall.
The packet then was supposed by the prisouer
to be still there; but yet uneasiness and doubt
were visible iu his hasty looks. In reflecting
upon the position of the barred window of the
prisoner's chamber, Gerald remembered that
its tenant might have witnessed tlie approach
of the supposed fisherman, and divined his mo
tive, without being able to sec what had pass
ed near the bushes themselves.
The old man was consequently still doubtful
as to the safety of the communication which
was to be the key to his escape, and even
more anxious as to the means by which he
might reach it. Gerald watched with palpi
tating heart how, in his promenade, the old
cavalier approached nearer and nearer, as if
unconsciously, the parapet wall. Had he
been alone, all, he said to himself, would have
been well ; but there was another witness to
observe the prisoner's actions. Gerald in his
turn also scrutinized the comrade of his watch,
and turned over iu his mind schemes to elude
his vigilance.
The man employed upon the extra duty of
this watch was well known to him by sight
and reputation. He was said to have been
originally of Dutch extraction ; and certaiuly
there was much in his heavy features, sleepy
eyes, and phlegmatic temperament which seem
ed to attest the truth of such a supposition—
a supposition which was still more borne out
by the report that he owned the euphonious
appellation of Gideon Van Guse. This, how
ever, was but vague hearsay ; lor in imitation
of the fantastic habit of sorno of the fanatics
of the time, Gideon had adopted a pious cog
nomen, the softness of which he perhaps fau
cied to accord well with his own placable and
quiet disposition. He went by the name of
Godlamb Gideon, except upon those occasions
when some of the more wicked of his compan
ions took advantage of certain drowsy and
somniferous points in his indolent character, to
bestow upon him the uickuame of Go-to bed
Godlamb.
As Gerald cast his scrutinizing look upon
him, Jiuoter Go-to-bcd Godluwb was standing
planted against a wall, in the full warmth of
an autumnal sun, perched upon one leg, ac
cording to a habit which he seemed to have
inherited, by a sort of instinct, from the cranes
of the country of his fathers, and which he
was generally observed to adopt when in a
more thau usually drowsy disposition. His
other leg was twisted round its brother, iu
somewhat incomprehensible fashion. But in
spite of this supposed indication of drowsi
ness, Gideon's light eyes stared out from un
der his preposterously high steeple hat with
unusual wakefulness and rotundity, and gave
to his not very expressive physiognomy the ap
pearance of that of au owl.
Gerald thanked the good fortune that had
sent him, at such a moment, a comrade of so
drowsy and phlegmatic a nature. • But it was
in vain that he watched for some further indi
cations of the usual results of Go-to-bed God
lamb's pious meditations. The cjes would still
preserve a most provoking rotundity ; nay,
more, they appeared determined, out of the
most obstinate spirit of opposition, td assume
at that moment a liveliness they uever had
been known to assume before since they had
opened 011 the light of day.
The old cavalier still paced the court, but
nearer to the bushes than before. Impatient,
also, at the loss of the precious momcuts as
they hurried by, Gerald approached his com
rade.
" You seem weary, friend," lie said.
" Yea, verily," answered Godlamb, Gideon
through his nose. "My soul is weary with
long watching ; but if the flesh be weak, the
spirit is still strong."
" Give way, comrade, give way," insinuated
Gerald ; " I will keep watch for both, and none
shall be the wiser."
" Nay, but the laborer is worthy of his
hire." snorted Gidean with much unction
" Odds pittikins, man," lie blurted out immed
iately afterwards, in another and more natural
tone, " would you have me in arrest again for
Sleeping on my post t That is,to say,'' contiu
ued the Puritan soldier, easting up his eyes,
and again resuming his canting whine, " verily
and of truth the hand of the scourger has been
heavy upon me ; the unjust have prevailed
against me ; but 1 will watch, that I fall not
again into their toils."
Gerald turned away with impatient vexa
tion. At that moment the eld caValicr, who
had taken advantage of the few words passing
between the two seutiuels to approach the
bu-hes unobserved, was bending down to pos
sess himself ol the packet. As Gerald turned
he again drew back his purpose unfulfilled.
Standing with his back to the other sentinel
Gerald now made a sigu to the old man, with
his finger placed upon his lips, to say not a
word, but to repose his confidence in him. The
prisoner started with surprise, and looked at
the young soldier with a mixture of hope and
doubt. Before making any further demonstra
tion, Gerald again turned in his walk, to as
sure himself that Gideon observed nothing of
this interchange of looks with the prisoner,
and then again turning his back to him placed
his hand upou his heart with a look of fervor
and truth, which would have been alone suffi
cient to inspire confidence in the old cavalier,
and passing as near him as he could with pru
dence, murmured in a low tone, " Trust to me!"
The old man again started ; but there was
more of pleasurable surprise, and less of doubt
in his expression. Gerald's heart treat wildly,
as his father's eye beamed upon him for the
time with kindly and grateful feeling.
The young soldier again looked at his com
rade. Gideon's eyes were now beginning to
close, in the excess of his fervor over the pious
page. Walking quietly to the protecting
bushes, Gerald beut over the parapet as if to
look into the stream, and plunging his arm at
the same time into the leaves, felt for the
packet. Alter a moment's fear and doubt, he
touched it—he drew it forth. By a move
ment of his head, he saw the old man watch
ing him increasing agitation ; but giving liirn
another look to reassure him Gerald rose from
his posture, and was about to conceal the
packet'iu his bandoleer, when it slipped from
liis fingers and fell to the groudd. At the noise
of the fall, Gideon's eyes again opened, and
were lifted upon with owl-like sagacity of ex
pression. Gerald's foot was already upon the
packet. Neither he nor the old cavalier dared
to interchange a look. Gideon's eyes said, as
plainly as eyes could speak, that they were not
asleep, and had not been asleep, and never in
tended to go to sleep—in fact were wondeful
ly wakeful. Aware that he could not remain
motionless upou the spot where he stood.under
the full stare of Gideon's eyes, Gerald let fall
his musket, as if by accident, and then kneel
ing with his back to his fellow-sentinel, contriv
ed adroitly to raise the packet at the same
time with his musket and to conceal it upou
his person. The prisoner was following his
movements with anxious eagerness.'
Possessed of the precious document, Gerald
now felt the impossibility of giving it into his
father's hands, as long as the eyes of the God
lamb Gideou were upon them, There appear
ed to him to be but one practicable manner of
conveying the desired intelligence coutaiued
within it to the prisoner—namely by examin
ing himself the contents, in such a manner as
not to excite the suspicion of his comrade,and
then commuuicating them in low aud broken
sentences to his father.
Placed in such a position as not to be ob
served by Gideon, he took the packet from his
bosom, and making the movement of breaking
the fastening looked imploringly at the old
cavalier. The old man comprehended the
glance, hesitated for a moment with a look of
doubt , and then clearing his brow with an ex
pression of resolution, as if there were no other
means, nodded his head stealthily to the young
soldier, aud waving to one of the stone bench
es fixed against the walls of the conrt, the
furthest removed from the spot where Gideon
Ftood, flung himself down upon it, and with his
face buried in his hands, seemed absorbed in
thought.
From one of the capacious pockets of his
full hose, Gerald now produced a book—it was
the Bible ; for it was the fashion of the times
omoDg the Puritanical party to carry the holy
book about the person. With a short hum
ble prayer that lie might not be thought to
desecrate the sacred volume by applying it to
a purpose of concealment for his father's sake,
he placed upon its open pages the letter which
formed the only contents of the packet, after
having Grst torn away and concealed unobserv
ed, the envelope, and then resumed his mono
tonous paeiug upon and down the court.
Gideon observed his comrade's seeming de
votion, and appearing determined to outrival
him in excess of zeal, applied himself more sed
ulously than ever to his book.
" Your friends are on the alert—a lugger
lies off the coast ready for your escape," said
Gerald in a low tone to the old cavalier, as he
passed as near to him in his walk as discre
tion would permit.
Such was the sense of the commencement
of the communication. The old man made a
gentle inclination of his head, to show that he
understood him without raising it from be
tween his hands. The young soldier looked
at Gideon ; Gideon had shifted his legs, and
perched himself iu an attitude bearing a more
direct resemblance to that of a reposing crane
than ever- Gerald again cast his eyes upon
his opeu book—
" All is prepared for to-night," he COfitinned
to mutter, as he again slowly passed the seat
of the prisoner. "Have the bars of your win
dow beeu cut by the file already conveyed to
you ?"
The old man again bowed his head with an
affirmative movement.
As Gerald turned once more, Go-to bed
Godlamb was nodding his head over his book,
as if in very enthusiastic approval of its con
tents, but unfortunately with so much energy
that he jerked it up again into an upright
posture,and immediately began staring straight
before him with great vehemence.
Gerald bit his lips with vexation, and con
tinned his walk. His eyes were seemingly
employed upon the page before him—
" A boat will be brought without noise un
der the walls at twelve this night," contiuued
the anxious son, repassing his father where he
sat. " You must descend fiom vour window
by your bed clothes "
Gerald resumed his walk. Gideoa was wink
ing and blinking with much energy—
" The only difficulty is to elude the vigilance
of the seutiuel who shall have the midnight
watch," muttered Gerald, as he again came
back past the prisoner.
The old man raised his Lead and looked at
him anxiously.
Gideon was again nodding, but with a lesser
degree of enthusiasm, as Gerald turned himself
that way. The young man quickened his step
and was soou ouce more by his father's side—
" Every means that lie in my power shall be
employed to favor your escape," whispered
Gerald, with much emotion.
The prisoner gave him an inquiring glance,
as if to ask his meaning. Gerald looked round
—Godlamb was snoring, after the fashion of
a well-known farm yard animal—uot the cne
whose name he bore.
" God grant," continued the young man in
much agitation, " that the lot fall to me to be
the sentry on that watch—then all were Well!"
" And who thus interest yourself so warmly
in my fate ?"
Gerald could no longer command his feel
ings. lie flung himself at the old man's feet.
" Father !" he exclaimed iu smothered ac
cents, give me thy blessing."
" Your father ! I !" cried the old cavalier ;
"you my sou ! you Gerald Clynton ! No—llo
—Gerald Lyle, I shall have said. Tell me
not so."
" 1 am your sou Gerald—Gerald Clynton—
Oh, call me by that name !'' exclaimed ihe
kneeling young man in a choked voice ; for the
tears were starting into his eyes.
" Thou art no son of mine. 1 know the not!
Leave me 1 "said Lord Clynton, springing from
his seat iu bitter anger.
Go to bed Godlamb stirred uneasily upon
his post. Gerald rose quickly from his knees,
trembling with agitation ; for, in spite of the
violence of his emotion, he had sufficient pi e
senee of mind to look cautiously round at his
sleeping comrade. Gideon's eyes were still
closed over his book, in that profound mystery
of devotion which was oue of his most remark
able traits.
"My father !" cried Gerald imploringly to
tha old niau, who now stood looking towards
him with a harsh and stubborn expression of
countenance, although the workings of emotion
were faintly perceptible in the lineaments of
his face.
Lord Clynton waved him impatiently away,
and tnrned aside his head.
" Oh, repulse me not, my father 1" cried
Gerald with imploring looks. "Why am I
still the proscribed son of your affections?—
What have I done, to be thus driven irom
your arms ? Am I still—though innocent of
all wrong—to pay so cruel a penalty for my
unhappy birth ?"
"Allude not to your mother!" exclaimed
the old man passionately. " Defile not her
memory even by a thought, ba3e boy ! Were
she living still, she also would refuse to acknow
ledge her degenerate sou."
" Great God ! what have I done to merit
this ?" said the unhappy son, forgetting, in the
agitation of his mind, the strict principles of
of the Buritauical party, which forbade as sin
ful this adjuration of the Deity—" I thought
to save you, my father from your cruel situa
tion—l thought to aid your flight."
"Say rather," said the excited cavalier,
giving way to his hot, unreasonable temper,to
trample on the prisoner—the scoff at him,and
triumph over him—to deliver him up to his
enemies. What have I else to expect from
the degenerate rebel to the religion of his fath
ers, his country and his king. Go, boy—go
play the patriot at thy ease—reverse the tale
of the Roman Brutus—and denouuee thy
father to the block 1"
" Unjust! unkind ! " said the young man,
struggling with his tears, which now began to
give place to feelings of indignatiou in him
also. "But you have ever been so. You
j have driven me, an innocent babe, from your
affections aud your sight j and when now,first
VOL. XX. —NO. 49.
after iong years, I beg a father's blessiug—
stretch forth my arm to earn a father's thanks
—yon spnrn me from your feet, and heap un
merited obloquy upon my head."
" Unmerited !" echoed Lord Clynton. "Do
you forget your disobedience ? or do the con
venient tenets of your hypocritical party per
mit you to erase the fifth commandment from
the decalogue, and teach you that the honor
ing of your father is an idle observance, not to
be weighed in the balance against the causa
of the God of Israel and his people ;so goes
the phrase—does it not ?"
"I understand you not," said Gerald. " In
what have I refused to honor my father ? whose
face I see for the first time to day—at least
since I have had thought and memory."
"lu what ?" exclaimed his father," with a
bitter laugh, "said 1 not so? Honor and
dishonor in your new fangled vocabulary are
but vaiu words that you understand no longer.
In what ? If I. thy father—since to my shame
I must be so—if I have been led by my over
whelming grief for that angel, to treat thee
with wrong in thy childhood, my conscience
has no longer a reproach to offer mo ; for my
son has in return treated mc with the bitterest
scorn, and refused to come to those loving
arms, which at last opened to receive him. In
what ? I have appealed to thee with the strong
est appeal of a father to join mc in the truo
and joint cause of murdered royalty, and I find
thee even now before me, with arms in thy
hands, to aid the sacrilegious traitors to their
king—maybe to*turu them with parricidal arm
against thy father."
" Again I understand you not," repeated
Gerald, gazing wistfully iu his face- *" Oh,
speak, explain—my father—this is a mvstery
to me !''
"Not understand mc!" echoed Lord Clynton
with scorn—"convenient phrase! convenient
memory ! You understood not perhaps those
letters I addressed vcu, those letters in which
I implored you to forget the past, and offered
you a loving welcome to my heart. But yon
could dictate a letter to your uncle, in which
you could upbraid me for my past n&kindness,
and refuse to return. You understood not my
urgent appeal to you to join the eauseof truth
and loyalty, and light by your father's side.—
But yon could dictate a second answer, word
ed with cold contempt, in which you could as
sert your rebellious right—degenerate boy !
to follow those principles you dared to my face
to qualify as those of justice and religion."
" Letters !" repeated Gerald, astounded.—
"An appeal ! I know of none—until my uncle's
death I scarcely was aware 1 had a father to
whom I owed a duty—l never heard that ho
followed another cause, but that which I was
taught to believe the right."
"No letters ! No appeal !" said his father,
half in scornful mistrust, half in doubt.
"Noue—i protest to you, my fathor," re
plied the agitated youth. " Now—but oulv
now—can I construe rightly the words my
uncle uttered on his death-bed, which speke of
wrong he had done mc and you."
" Can I believe all this ? 'said the passionate
old cavalier, now evidently wavering in his
wrath.
"As God lives," said Gerald ; " that God
whom I perhaps offtmd, whom I thus call up
ou by name—that God who lias said, " Swear
not at all." The old cavalier shrugged his
shoulders at this evidence of the Puritanical
education of his son : " 1 swear to you, that
I know nothing of those matters."
Lord Clynton was evidently moved,although
the rebellions spirit within still resisted the
more affectionate promptings of his heart.
" Father prove me," cried Gerald implor
ingly. " Let rae live henceforth to serve you
-—let me die for yon, if needs must be—let ate
save you from this prison—let me earn your
blessing—that blessing which is my dearest
treasure upon earth."
Gerald again bent down at the old man's
feet. Lord Clyuton still struggled with his
feelings. There was still a contest in his heart
bet ween long cherished anger and ncwly-awak
cned confidence.—Before either could again
speak, the trampling of feet was ouce more
heard along the vaulted passage. The agitat
ed son rose quickly to his feet, and strove to
repress his emotion. His father gave him
one look ; and that look lie fondly construed
into a look of kindness. In another moment
the Colonel entered the court, followed by two
soldiers.
Gideon's poised leg fell the ground, his eyes
opened and started out wonderfully. That
troubled stare told, as if the eyes had a tongue,
thatGoto-bed Godlamb had bteu slecpiug
soundly on his post. Fortunately for the som
nolent soldier, the sharp looks of Lazarus Sea
man were not bent in his directiou.
With a formal bow to his prisoner, Colonel
Seaman informed him that the time allotted
to him for exercise in the open air was past.
With another formal inclination* of the head,
the olu cavalier turned to his jailer, and turned
to mount, the tower stair, lie exchanged not
another look with his son ; but as he turned
away, Gerald tried to read in his face a milder
feeling.
" 1 will save him, or I will die !" muttered
Gerald to himself, as sho party disappeared
uuder the tower gateway. " 1 will force him
to grant me that blessing he has refused me—
I will earn it well and he determined in his
mind that, come what might, he would find
meaus to be appointed to the midnight watch.
(TO BE CONCLUDED.)
BF.ECHER on " SOLEMN PEOILE." —There are
a few who, eveu in this life, seem to be pre
paring themselves for that smileless eternity
to which they look forward, by banishing all
gaity from their hearts, alljousness from their
countenances. I urcet cno such in the street
not unfrequently, a person of intelligence aud
eduaatiou, but who gives all that passes such
a rayless and chilling look of recognition,-
something as if he were one of Heaven's as
sessors, come down to " doom" every acquain
tance he meets, that I have sometimes began *
to sneeze on the spot, and gone home with a
violent cold, dating from that instant. I don't
doubt he would cut bis kitten's tail off if he
caught her playing with it.