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,ti.-. .
' v • s '; '.- 5,-- . :i< . !::'"
y ,..-zzL.-__, ~;...,;:-.::'•
—"With sweetest flowers cnrich'd
From various gardens cull'd with care."
IDLE WORDS.
wt. MAJOR CALDER. CAMPBELL.
rats strongest love bath yet at limos,
A weakness in its power;
And latent sickness often sends
The madness of an hour!
To her I loved, in bitterness
I said a cruel thing:—
Ah me! how much of misery
From idle words may spring
I loved her then—l love her still,—
But there was in my blood
A growing fever that did give
Its frenzy to my mood; _
I sneered because another's snores
Had power my heart to wring;—
Ab me! how much of misery
From idle words may spring.
And when, with tears of wonder, she
Looked up into my face
I coldly turned away mine eyes,
Avoiding her embrace; - -
Idly I spuke of idle doubts,
And many on idler thing:—
Ah me! how much of misery
From idle words may spring!
'Twos over soon and cause,—not soon
Tho sad effects passed by:
They rule mu 'ninth the summer'• sue,
And 'neath the winter's sky!
I sought forgiveness. 4he forgave,
But kept the lurking sting!
Alas! how much of misory
From idle words may spring!
Month after month—verr after year,
I strove to win again
The heart an idle word had lost,
But strove, alas! in vain.
Oh! ye who love, beware lost thorns .
Across Love's path ye fling;
Ye little know what misery
From idle words may spring!
alu , ooltaamaow(3o
FOR TIIE STAR AND REPUBLICAN DANNEB
THE CONVICT'S DREAM.
It had been a bright day in the bright month of
Juno; the earth was decked with her jewels, and
rejoiced with song and incence, in the smile of
her glorious bridegroom. Alt animated nature
seemed full of delight; so that had a bright spirit
from some other sphere lingered a moment on the
gentle waves of the balmy atmosphere, he could
hardly have thought that sorrow, and sin, and
terrible retribution, dwelt amongst scenes so fair.
That earth never was so sweet, or the heaven so
bright above it, but that bitter tears were falling
on the bosom of the one; and groans, and sighs
of despair, and agony, rising and mingling with
the light of the other. But of all who wept away
the glad hours of this day, the convict who count
ed them as the periods of his last, last day, may
be considered as most miserable. Poor Arnold,
the condemned criminal, the murderer, the hated
of his brethren, the mortal for whom hope had no
smile, and pity no tear, sat all, that lovely day
long by his grated window. At intervals ho
wept like a forsaken child. Then ho would gaze
long and anxiously upon the street with its busy
and happy throngs, and upon the clear blue
ether, as if lie would till his soul with their images,
before ho went down to the dark still chamber.—
Hu was a man of perhaps thirty•five years, well
formed, and beautiful in Ills manly strength, with
dark eyes, and temples adorned with clusters of
fair brown curls. But his check was deadly pale,
and his forehead ploughed deep by fierce and con
tending passions. Before him lay a manuscript in
which from time to time, as his emotions permitted
traced lines of shame and bitterness. At length he
laid aside his pen, (leased his arms upon his table,
bent his face upon them, and remained a long time
in deep communion with the spirit which was so
soon to return to Gad who gave it. At length he
raised his head, looked out upon - the bright and
beautiful and joyous landscape. The muscles of
his foes wrought with intense agony,he shuddered,
and with a deep groan took up, his manuscript.
I will reed it once be said, this legacy of shame to
my childron, pt woe to the Mends who must al
ways feel apang 6t my name. He read, and the
low murmur at length became audible.
She was beautiful, and my spirit at that age
was a magnifying glass, which increased seven
fold every beauty of the object which filled it.—
She was elegant; and theta was a neatness in her
white dimity rube, and muslin ruffles, which made
TALVZPU'reS22:IV2II6O '.lP . cao o Wtlnßalbealre maenaatiaram 118 9 aillaT4cl
them appear more ornamental then the richest sat
ins and laces, which wrapped less lovely women.
She never worn ornament, other than her own
dark curls, or clusters of rich blossoms, disposed
with exquisite taste. She was an:enthusiastic
lover of nature; the green leaf, the sweet flower,
the soiling cloud; the bird song and the whisper
of the breeze, were to her like so many angel vis
itants. She loved all native loveliness, and she
loved me because she deemed me unsophisticated,
and generously sincere. Oh! then it was rapture
to be near her, her song was cestacy, the touch of
her hand a thrill of delight. But her eyes, I could
have gazed day and night upon them, with the
most ardent delight. Can I express the joy that
danced in my bosom when she promised to be
come mine own? And than followed days and
nights of blessedness, such as the young and lov
ing only can enjoy. But a cloud came over the
heaven of my happiness, distrust entered my heart,
and cruel jealousy gnawed away the bloom of my
happiness. My wifo felt herself injured and in
sulted, and she grew cold and distant, I called my
pride to my aid, and we, the fond confiding happy
ones, became estranged and miserable.
Shall Igo on? Can I pursue the horrid detail?
Oh! that I had died then, when I first became
miserable, when the romance end beauty of exis
tence faded away; when the glorious robes of fan
cy fell from mortality, and I turned wish disgust
from the deformity of her nakedness. Alas! that
tho warm and ideal nature should ever meet the
chill of sober reality, and become frozen to misan
thropy! I believe that my Adah loved ale ever,
but my heart; became utterly estranged from her.
I could,hardly boar that my children should love
her, or that any person should regard her affec
tionately. How was it possible that I could feel
thus? I was miserable, and she was superlative
ly so. Many an hour she wept while she deemed
me sleeping, and I hated her the more, for I knew
that she was aggrieved. All her joys were gone,
all her fond hopes were blighted, all her 'visions
of blessedness wore gone like the bubbles which
for an instant amuse the laughing child. Yet
could she win ono smile, one word of approbation
from me, she seemed to forget bar sorrows, and
her wrongs, and the beaming smile of her young
love, would leap sparking to her face. That fare
was lovely, and her spirit was ingenuous, end fond,
but she seemed to me like a book which I had re
perused until it would no longer interest me.
My wife informed me that her dear friend Ma
ry M—, had become a widow and would soon
be with us with the intention of staying all sum
mer. She is welcome I muttered, while my heart
swelled bitterly. They had been friends from
childhood, but Mary had married and left the
place before I came to it, so I had never seen her.
But they wore correspondents, of course Adali
had told her all her sorrows; and how should I ap
pear in her eyes? She would be a restraint upon
me, a censor, and I hated her befo?d I had looked
upon her.
She came, I saw her, and I seemed like ono en
tranced. Sho MN in all respects the opposite of
my wife. Tall, slender, graceful; with dark eyes,
and jetty ringlets, shading a brow and cheeks of
pearl. Her lips alone claimed affinity with rows,
and they were fresh as a May morning. I trem
bled as I assisted her from the carriage, rind as she
clung weeping to Allah's bosom, I would have giv
en. the world to have felt her tears upon my neck.
Tho greeting over, she became composed. There
was a sadness blended with her joy, which sunk
into my spirit. Shn was even the sew, quiet
and ladylike, graceful mid elegant; never doing or
saying anything in violation of the strictest rules
of etiquette.
I soon discovered that Adah had never com
plained to her of me. She seemed to consider me
a paragon amongst men, and epoko to me as to a
brother of all that interested her. Poor Adah
was overjoyed, the presence of her friend was
like an angel of peace to her heart and habitation,
for I now acted like my former self from a desire
to appear amiable in the eyes of my new idol.—
All that summer I was like ono entranced, but, as
autumn approached, and she began to 9poak of
leaving us, my heart seemed to cramp with ago
! ny. I could not exist without her. What a re•
vulsion had taken place in my feelings within a
few months. 'rho contemner of the whole fo•
male sex, found his soul wholly wrapt in the smile
of a woman. I lived only in her presence, and
the anticipation of a separation was painful in the
extreme. As I sat sadly musing on my piazza,
where the fading vine, and the sere blossom shiv
ering in the fitful autumnal wind; and gilitering
with cold dew drops iii the moon looked now and
then from amongst the eailing squadron of white
'Clouds, seemed so like my own bereft spirit, shorn
of its spring tide gladness, shaken by the wild
guests of passion, and languishing Beneath the
dew and light of fond affections.
"And why will you leave usl" I heard my
Adah say ta her friend.
"Because my loved sister, I cannot bear longer
to ha 'a dependant. I am one notwithstanding
nil the pains which your Pelham, and yourself
have token to conceal it from me, and I have re
ceived the offer of an excellent situation, as ■n
instructress in a seminary. Say no more dear
Adal,, I must go. And yet I shrink from a sta
tion so full of responsibility, so open to censure.
Oh if I were as happy as you are!"
"Perhaps you may soon meet with ■ worthy
man, to whom you can consign your happiness,
and with whom you may find rest." (Oh! how,
any heart burned.)
~ A h! Adah, this world contains but few men
like your husband. If I should find ono like him
I should not refue his hand." .
I heard no more, fur my soul was in tumults,
and amongst its wild throbbing. came a shadow
of a wish that I was free to mike her an offer of
mine. From this moment I was undone. I be
gan to wish Adah in . her coffin,• and soon the
wicked one suggested to my mind that I was able
to lay her there, Oh the torturea that now agoni•
zed my spirit! The burning wish, the shuddering
fear, the half formed purpose! Sometimes I suf
fered fancy to anticipate the deed and revel in the
delights of an union with Mary. Then, oh! how
I longed tube a witloweir. I wen bereft of reason
by the one Mighty- passion which possessed me.
I feared . tha judgments of heaven , for I had been
religiously educated. Yet often did I offer to the
G. V.T.AI3EINGTOIT BOWEN, znieron Sr. PROPRIETOR.
14 The liberty to know, to War, and to argue, freely, is above all other libertiee.”—Ntit.Ton
Almighty, pleas of the most impious character,
asserting that my feelings were involuntary, and
beyond my control; and beseeching him to re
move the obstacle to my happiness. I fancied
that as Adah was a christian, a transition from
earth to heaven would be to her a blessed change;
and I knew that death would be preferable to the
knowledge of my feelings towards her. Mary
left us, and life had no longer any joy fur me. I
neglected my business, and wandered out alone,
weeping like a lovesick girl. There lay a dark
ness on my spirit, I was utterly changed. I who
had so loved all nature, now looked with loathing
upon her richest treasures. I saw but the acre
leaf when I roved amidst the autumnal fruits, I
heard but the
,wailing winds, when all nature re
joiced at the yearly banquet. Winter came, and
passing on gave place to spring; but my soul felt
not the breeze or the sunbeam. My bosom was
like the crater of a volcano, calcarious, and bare
of beauty; while within, the molten lava swelled,
and rolled, and consumed my vitals. My suffer
ings were apparnont to all. My friend; condoled
with me on my ill health, and each recommended
his own infallible remedy, or favorite physician.
Oh! how did the agony of my spirit exceed the
keenest pangs of the corporeal frame! •
The beautiful month of May came, and with it
came Mary on a visit to her friends. I can not
express the tumultuous working of my passions
as I clasped her hand, and bade her welcome.—
She was greatly improved in appearance, having
regained her health and spirits. I was inexprore.
sibly happy as I hung around her, drinking in her
words, and living on her smiles. But she seem
ed to avoid me, and I fancied that she divined my
feelings; and resolved to attend her on her return
to her home. I looked forward to that day es to
the sealing of the bond which would bestow up
on sac unalloyed felicity; but it came, and with it
an elegant man in a splendid carriage, whom Ma
ry introduced as a friend of her Into husband. I
cannot deseribe my agony, it was liko a fire in my
very soul. I saw and felt that he was a favored
suitor, and yet I madly imagined that were I free
I could win her yet. Then it was that amidst the
mad tumults of passion, jealousy, and terror, the
thought of obtaining my liberty by the hand of
violence awoke in my mind. I turned from it
with a thrill of horror. Soon it came again, and
at length I found myself dwelling upon it. My
soul weir in agonizing tumults, Oh! that Adah
might die'of disease, or meet death by occident!
Yet die oho must shortly, or Mary would be lost to
me! I thought not of the law, or of the gallows.
I only feared the sin, and cruelty of the deed.—
Often did I sit musing upon it, while my uncon
scious wife sat regarding me with looks of appre
hensive love, lest the sickness which she believed
was preying upon mo might prove fatal. And
then she would hush our little ones, that they
might not disturb me with their merry laughter.
At such seasons I have instinctively drawn my
dirk, and without any definite purpose, whet its
edge fine as a razor. Once as I was thus employ
ed Allah said to mo, with n bright good Shylock,
why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly. Oh!
what a revulsion of feelings then rushed through
my bosom. I felt a mighty impulse to bury the
blade in my own vitals. She looked at me with
wonder, and grew very pale; and that evening. I
overheard her say to a neighbor, that she feared
my brain was disordered. Ah! truly, so it was!
fearfully disordered, yet I was sane but for the
overwhelming flood of passion which rolled its
billows over all my faculties. One night I stole
softly into my wife's bed room. She was sleep
ing, and the pure moonlight lay on her fringed
eyelids. My babe's round fresh cheek rented
against her bosom, and its little hand lay upon
her throat. I bent over her; I could count every
beat of her gentle heart. as she lay in her placid
slumber. I put the point of my keen knife
to her breast; how soon it might bo done! Oh!
that it was over! I would have given the world
to have seen that knife to its hilt in her bosom;
but my arm was withheld. A rush of tenderness
come over me, I stooped and kissed her forehead,
she moved slightly, and I glided from the room.
Once in my own room the demon within me deri
ded my cowardice, and upbraided me that I bad
let pass an opportunity, which might not soon re•
turn, and yet the deed must be done speedily, or
it would be too late. I felt impelled to kneel and
pray that I might be sustained under my trial,
and delivered from this mighty temptation. But
something forbade me to approach him, saying
that ho would account my prayer abomination,
and my drawing near him sacrilege. I turned
away, and from that moment his blessed spirit
withdrew from me, and I was loft to myself. I
was no longer withheld, and I rejoiced in my free
dom. I could now deliberate calmly on the mur
der, and the means. The turmoil of my soul was
hushed. I thought of poison, but I had none, and
did not think it safe to purchase any. At . length
I resolved upon the knife. I pretended business
at the next town, and left home, telling Adah that
I should bo absent at least two days. I took all my
money with me, and also our silver spoons, and
intended to return in the night and kill my wife,
then proceed to the town . specified, secret tho
money and valuables, and then I had 110 doubt but
that the general impression would be, that Adak
had falloff a victim to some monster who had also
robbed the house. But it chanced that my wife
was visited that afternoon by some ladies in whom
she confided, and when on getting tea for them,
she found her plate missing, she told the circum
stance, declaring that she knew I had taken them,
and that she foam] I was insane. The ladies be
gan to mistrust that I had absconded, and instiga
ted her to search farther. She found,my secretary
unlocked and empty of money, and even her own
trinkets of jewels missing. Of course she was
greatly distressed, and before bed time the whole
neighborhood knew every circumstance of the af
fair.
Meantime I travelled on to 11 thick vvTI, into
which I entered. and having tied my horse to a
tree, concealed the effects which I had taken with
me, in a hollow of >< fallen beech, and sat down to
await the grey winged evening, under whose pro
tection I would return and perform thu deed of
blood. Here, as I sat upon' a mossy rock, count
ing the lagging moments, my soul was agitated
with a tempest mere fearful then the untried spir- .
it can fancy cr comprehend. One moment in
ideal_ delight, I clasped Mary all my ewe to my
burning bosom; then Adah rose More me, with
her meek smile, and dewy eye, clasping my own
little one to her bosom, and enquiring what she
should do to servo me. Then a passion of wild
hate diatribe with her love, stood between me and
Mary, prompted me to draw my dirk, and
then I saw the tragedy. My holplese children
shrieking and sobbing in agony around tho bleed
ing corpse of a tender mother, whose loss, ne
earthly treasure ever would compensate. I turn
ed shuddering from the picture, and then as I
thought of Mary, I longed to ass it realised. Oh!
the fevered agonies of those 81108 , paced hours.
At length the shadows of the wood began to
darken, I sprang from my seat, but so great was
my agitation that I could not sustain myself, and
sunk down upon the earth. Why did Knot aban
don my horrid design? Alas no good spirit with
held me, and the friends of the infernal world ur
ged mu on. Darkness spread out her heavy pavil
ion, and I felt as if its shadow wee between me
and the All.seeing. I left the wood, and proceed
ed homeward along the road, intending to be at
my victim's bedside about midnight. I had seven
miles to walk, for I loft my horse in the wood,
and my trembling limbs seemed utterly unstrung
with agony. Deep thunder began to roll in the
distance, and the livid etheriel fire to quiver
through the murky air. I always felt an awe in
such scenes, and now it increased my madness.
Ah! Madness, for I was mad! I was utterly in
sane with the fire of the torturing passion, which
I had so long cherished in my bosom.
In every flash of lightning I saw the horrid fa
cos of exulting fiends, and felt the stinging lashes
with which they goaded mo onward. But the
angel of mercy came nut, I was given up to a rep
robate mind. I hurried forward, fearing only that
Adah would not be sleeping, or that some inci
dent would frustrate my purpose. I reached the
village just as the thunder clouds hung in black
festoone directly over head, and the rain and red
lightning seemed mingling and striving for the
empire of the air and earth. There was hero and
there a night lamp burning in the village, and I
felt as if their quivering beams would recognize
me, and bear witnesa against me. I entered my
borne. Tho house which I built in my young
heart's happiness, and under the roof of which I
hoped to grow old in peace and honor. I crept
into the parlour, in which I first sat down with
overflowing heart, with my own young wife, at
our own table. In which I felt the blessed thrill
of parental love, as I clasped my first born to my
bosom. The bed room door stood partly open, I
approached it. An almost burnt out candle was
flickering in its stick upon the hearth, and Adah
wee awnko,for at every interval of the roaring storm,
I could distinguish deep and bitter sobbings. I felt
to imprecate curses upon her. I was ready to rush
in boldly and do my work. But Adds when I
was away ~would alwnya lay a bed upon the• car
pet, and bring tho children to sleep in the room
with her. They might also be awake. I eat
down in a corner of the parlour, to await at least
the going out of that slim candle. My knife was
grasped in my hand, and as it gleamed in the
lightning it seemed to burn and writhe with im
patience. Oh! whore was mercy in that heurl—
And yet what claim had I on mercy! I had sti
fled the voice of conscience, gain -said the word of
God, trampled on his commandments, and stifled
the voice of the pleading aphid What had mer
cy to do with me? The storm passed by, and
Adah fell asleep. All was still save the distant
roll of the receding thunder. I arose; a shudder
ing horror was upon me, yet I felt as if the eon
■ummation of my fearful purpose would relieve,
and happily my mind. I lighted a lamp, and en
tered the bed room. Adah had wept berself into
a deep heavy slumber; for her pillow was wet, and
the tearful lashes moved not ad the light fell full
upon her face. She had laid the babe upon the
pillow, and her bosom where I wished to strike,
was barn. I looked narrowly upon that white bo
som, to mark where the heart-heats were most ap
parent; I put tho steel to the vital spot, between
the ribs, for I would not strike lost I should miss
my aim. Then with both hands upon the haft, I
forced tho long blade deep into her heart. She
gave one shrill wild cry, Oh God! Great God!,
how it tortures my ears even now! A quivering
convulsion ran over her whole frame; and the
deed was done—l was free. W hat's the matter!
Fattier! Oh Father! cried my oldest child, spring
ing from her couch towards me. I dropped the
lamp, and fled hastily away.
Arrived at the wood, I sought say home, hut
the poor animal frightened no doubt by the tem
pest, had broken his halter and fled away. I
sought him in vain. It was now day; my saddle
and briddlo lay upon the log where I left them,
soaked with the rain. What could I dol I should
be sought in the town to which I said I was going,
probably messengers were now on the road. My
plan had been a good ono, but it was utterly frus
trated. My clothes were saturated with water, I
was fatigued, and exhausted in body and mind.—
A lethargy crept over mo which I had no power
to resist; and about noon my pursuers found me,
beside the log on which lay my saddle, sleeping
so soundly that I was with difficulty aroused.
They told me that my wife was murdered; that
I was suspected of having done the deed. I atart.
•d in utter astonishment, exclaiming—l suspect
ed! it is not possible!
But my guilt was obvious; my child testified
that hearing her mother scream, she looked 14
and saw me with a lamp in one hand and a bloody
knife in the other, and they found blood still upon
that knife. They found the money and valuables
which I had hidden in the wood,and were satisfied
that I had been lurking there. I was committed
to prison. I had taken a violent cold, and now
fell into a fever which kept me in a torpid state
for fourteen days. At length I came to myself.
It was in the middle of a calm clear night, that I
awoke from a'deep sleep, and mechanically reach
ed over to lay my hand upon Adrift. The rustling
of the straw es I turned startled me; 'and now the
whole truth burst upon me. No pen can pour
tray my feelings; my horror at the fearful deed I
had done; my wonder, my astonishment, et tho
feelings which had prompted me to perpetrate it.
And the remorse, as I looked hack upon the past;
the regret when I thought of what I had, been; the
agony with which I looked forward to what was
yet in store for me, for I saw plainly that my guilt
must be evident to all. Oh the tortures which
seized upon my soul! How I longed to be anni.
hilatod. How I sought some spot of peace to rest
upon, some glimpse of consolation, or palliating
circumstance. But there wee none. Death, tem
poral, and eternal,was my certain doom. And what
had become of the fierce passion which had urged
rue to this abyss of guilt? Swallowed up it wts
is remorse and horror; nor could I comprehend
hour it ever existed. I was like one who should
suddenly awake in hell. Cut off from hopc,and sur
rounded by innumerable tenting fiends,who cast up
all my sins, and ridiculed every specious plea
with which I had appeased my conscience. Oh!
bow vain, how utterly contemptible did the pea.
!ion which had goaded me on appear. I would
have given all that I had ever possessed, ah! my
own life frilly, to have recalled one year. But
now all wan lost, my life was forfeit, and Adah
in her grave could given.) aid to my little orphans.
And now all the tenderness with which I had
once regarded my wife and children returned like
a flood upon my soul. Then I wept in all the
agony of bereavement until my body became ox
hausted, and I sunk into n fit. I recovered only
to know the misery of being a murderer! An ab
horred, deserted murderer! chained like a wild
beast, and left alone with the vultures of remorse
preying on my soul.
I lived to stand in the court room, to hoar my
self accused, imploaded, and condeuined by my
fellow men. I looked round upon the audience;
there was curiosity, wonder, horror, and deteata•
lion in the faces which scoWled upon me. But
pity, the sweet angel which my crushed and liar
reseed spirit sought, she was ashamed of my com
panionship. Only on tho drooping brows of a
few meek lowly men and women, could I trace
her hand writing which said, crushed and fallen
as thou art, thou art out brother.
To-morrow I must die in conformity to the pre
cept, cwhoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall
his blood be shed." The law is just, I cannot ex
tenuate my dark doings. I wee truly in n dream
of delirium; and fancied that my passion was re
sistless. But I sought not to subdue it. On the
contrary, I cherished it and lived upon its sweet
ness, until its poison was diffused through every
fibre of my soul and body. Then indeed it was
in vain to resist, for it had become a part of my
being and I had become delirious. It is decided
thst I was sane. Could that he possible, when
my whole soul dwelt with fierce intensity on one
single . idea. No, no! I will venture to assert
that no sane person ever shed human blood in
murder. Anger, love, revenge, jealousy, or ava
rice, for the time, become omnipotent, and all the
reasoning powers are perverted, and rendered
tributary to its powerful sway. lam dying with
' out hope, yet I feel that God is not only just but
merciful. lam almost content to go down to
eternal punishment that so his holy law may be
made honorable. My children! My orphan chil.
dren! 'Tis for you I mourn; the remembrance of
maker murdered. and a father hung, will embit
ter every cup which the world shall fill for you.
Oh! that I could see you all this night in your
coffins, I could then go with less reluctance to
death —. His voice became inarticulate from
emotion; he gave way to weeping, and his voice
was hoard in cries and lamentations until the
shades of night were drawn round nature's pil
low; but no prayer, no supplication came from
that broken heart. Oh God! my doom is just!
was hie frequent exclamation, but he sought no
reprieve. Despair was with his spirit, and he
felt himself forsaken and abhorred, by God and
man. Wearied out, et length lie threw himself
upon his couch, and Bunk into a deep, and death
like slumber.
Hour after hour passed by, until the voice of the
clock told three. Then the door of his cell was
cautiously opened by the jailer, and two children
ushered Into the cell of the doomed one. They
approached the couch end stood gazing wistfully
upon him. Oh! how heavily upon the emit of
that young girl and boy lay the sins of their fath
'er. Pale they_were as snow, and their blue oyes
were dim and swollen with weeping. Yet so
lovely wore they in their forms of innocence, that
.one might deem them guardian angels, but for
their deep black dresses. Borrow bad taught their
little hearts to be circumspect, and they kept
lance fearful of awakening the sleeper from his
lest dream, I. the dreadful conscieueness of his
situation. Neither of them resembled him in fee
ture' although the bright curls of the boy looked
as if they might have been shorn from his head in
his days of happiness. The little girl as she gazed
sadly un her sleeping father, drew her brother
close to hor side and whispered, "be still, Willie,
papa will Wake seen." They drew nearer and as
she bent earnestly over him a big tear fell on his
hand. Ho moved, opened his eyes. arose with a
sudden motion, and clasped his children fondly to
his bosoin. Blessings on you my sweat ones, he
cried, blessings on you that you have come to see
me once more. lam not utterly forsaken in this
trying hour. Oh, Ellen! Oh, my dear William!
I am glad you are here, far I can comfort your lit
tie hearts. • I have seen such sweet visions as I
I lay here sleeping, they have made me happy, they
have taken the terrors from death, and now I am
ready to go to the feet of a merciful Lord. My
poor wicked heart has ached dreadfully, and I
Ihave wept very bitterly hero, many weary days
and nights; and I hod no one to comfort me. I
knew that I must soon walk out Of my prison, in
my health and strength, to die. And then I had,]
no hope after death. I have offended against the
laws of God, and I felt that I could not ask him to
pardon me; much less to give me eternal happiness
and peace. Yet I said I will not rebel against
Him. Even in hell I will declare that ho has done
'righteously. Last night I was weeping long for
myself sod for you. I even felt to wish that yeu
Were already in heaven, that so your mourning for
your good mother, and your shame for me might
make you rad no more. At length I lay down
here and fell asleep. I have hardly slept for weeks,
so great has been my sorrow. In my sleep ',dream
ed that I was wandering through a delightful
country, rich with trees, fruits, nuts, and Bowen',
such u- we" have never seen, in such abundance
that it seemed as if God inch trea
sures,that the inhabitants
'ter them
up to be rich and happy, de wore
I)YIE:VjaM Oa
wandering about in eqtrolid 111IW!U.. There were
no enclosed and cultivated fielde; nil beeutiful ci.
11CP; no nienufacteries; no rends; and, apparently
no social intercourse. At length I came !Oil spot
like the garden of Eden. Fair fields and beautiful
groves, surrounded a nest and well built village,
swarming with a happy !oohing poklation. And
why, I thought, is not this whole land like this
fair end fleeted spot?• Or to what doss this re
gien owe its superimityl I Epp:coached a large
building in the centre of the village, I heard the
sweet music of a 113 inn swelling up to the eternal
God. A pale, serene looking man stood in a pul
pit at ono ono of the house, ond.near bins sates'
beautiful and joyous conple; and these were sur
rounded by hundreds of the dark and simply 'at
tired natives of the land. Every eye wee turned
intently upon the speaker in the pulpit. I saw at
once that I was in a land of heathen 'savages, and
that this fair spot was a missionary station. I felt
my heart overflowing towards the servants of God
who had left all to preach his name, and teach his
commandments to these benighted creatures. The
young missionary -blessed the Lord for that ho had
blessed his labours; for that he had brought him
with his fellow-laborers into that abtindant field;
and also fur the over ruling goodness which made
events the most distressing, conduce to this great
and glorious end; events which . drove the speck
led birds from amongst their fellows, to carry the
olive branch into the *wilderness, and sing the
songs of love beneath its shadow.
At this moment I felt as it were a soft hicezis
playing around me, fragrant with the richest par
' fume. Earth has nothing like it; it seemed a balm
of power, to soothe the weary, and allay the feve're
of the mind. I felt every earthly passion sink into
peace as it breaitted up j e t rriy-forehead. And now
it seemed to sworeinto voice o entrancing Ine s
Indy, which pronounced my IMMO. I looked up,
and saw myself surrounded by a win e soft light,
intense yet not dazzling, which streamed in a halo
from around the person of a celestial creature who
hovered near me. I cannot describe her beauty,
for it was heavenly beauty; even the expression of
perfect peace, confidence arid happiness. But the
form, the features were all familiar to mo—it was
your mother—it was my murdered wife. DO not
tremble so dear children., It was her very self; and
I was wild with joy as Hooked upon her. Pel
ham! she said, and tier voice was balmy melody,
Pelham nro you soon to die? Yes, I replied, to-
morrow my life must make atonement for youte.
But I shall die happy now, I shall go down will.'
ingly. to the pit, since I have seen you in heaven's
glory. And do you not hope tote with me where,
I am, she said. Oh! no, I answered, that - cannet
be. I have sir ned beyond all hope of pardon. - I
have not only debased itself and murdered you;
but I have entailed disgrece end misery upon our
innocent children. Oh, nu! The Good, the Just,,
can never pardon ma! And Jo you think, she
answered, that man by his crimes can so frustrate
or embarrass the wise purposes of omnipotence as
to provoke him to vindictive anger? Look! am I
not more blessed than if you hail never sinned a
gainst my life? And behold the blessed destinies
of our children. Instruments of his mercy for the
salvation of the heathen! Has ho not made the
wrath of man to praise him? And think you that
he is filled with indignation against you, a poor
wind shaken reed? Your sins have not injured
the holy Lawgiver—you have sinned against your
own soul. His broken laws require their penalty;
and the soul that sinneth it shall die! Not because
the sinner has injured God, any more, than because
lie has offended his fellow man who sits in judg
ment upon him. But because he has forfeited his
life, by n wilful breach of a known law. Now,
Pelham, do you suppose that the judge'whe sen
tenced you to death, would refuse to receive a
precious ransom for your life, if the laws allowed
the murderer to he remained? And is not the
omnipotent judge Perfect in all goodness? Will
ho refuse the ransom which himself has appointed
for his convicts? Oh! never! Yet tnan Judges
the God by himself, and knowing that he has of;
fended, fancies that ho must do sumethinrto ap•
pease. Hence the convict's exclamation hail over
been, ' , what shall Idoto ho saved!" But the an
swer is uniform, 'believe on the Lord Jesus Christ.'
Pelham! hero is a ransom for the chief of sinnere!
Jesus Christ has satisfied- the requirements of di
vine justice. Come and sit down huinbly at his
feet, and bo will make your peace with God.
Oh! my children, the words of your angel mo
ther wore holy balsam to my spirit. I now, saw
my Savior in his glory, as the redeemer of man
kind, the friend of sinners. I felt to take bold on
his righteousness; and now I am ready to die, for
I believe that God will for his Son's sake receive
my spirit. Do not mourn for me dear children; I
shall assuredly go to
.heaven where your mother
now is, and whore, when you have done the will
of yopir heavenly rather, you will be permitted to -
joie.us. I leave you in confidence that He wise
careth for the fatherless, and the, strangermill hails
you in.his especial keeping. Ellen here is a letter
which I have written to - DIrS. Mary Ellswerth.--e
She was your inothWe deareqfriond, she was the'.'•
innocent cause of all our ingeish."l have.en.trealo
ed her to ho a mother unto you.; ' , Mille elit3ufd , '
take riu to her home, I charge yon to be data!
and affectionate to her, as if you were her own
children. It is now time for us to part. Do net
cry so bitterly. God will be your father. - * Oh, '
sin! sin! what bast thou done. Lord have mercy
upon me! This is a bitter cup. How . shall I
drain it? Dear children bo comforted. You must
go with the jailer now. Ho will be kind to you,
and send you into the country until Mrs. Ells
worth comes for you. Remember what I have said
to you this morning,and may it pleaee the merciful •
Lord to accomplish all the blessed designs which
he has mercifully shadowed forth in the Convict's
dream.
Tho-bitterness of that day is past. The mgr.
,tlerer has paid the forfeit, life for life;
, and is al
most r,rgotten on the earth, save by the fictive sad
useful Missionary, his sister and brother-in-lair,'
who now occupy a post of usefulness end 'honor
in en island of the far recipe, and who as they
meal the sorrows of their childhood. Oft' afisk
with gratitude of the ways of Pravid t tar,a, so d
the time when they shall moot their parents in the.
regions of purity and peace.
The Abolition vote in 11 Stotts, its ,C,,s'3l'.