Lewie by Cousin Cicely

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"And now, dear Ruth," she said, "I do not come to ask that my young
brother shall be permitted to walk forth to do like evil again;--there
would be no danger of that, even if he were not greatly changed, as I
solemnly believe he is, in heart and temper; for his doom is sealed;
consumption is wasting his frame;--we only ask that we may carry him
forth to die and be buried among his kindred. Oh! how he pines for the
free air and the blue sky, and longs to die elsewhere than in a
condemned cell! If I might be permitted to remove him to my uncle's kind
home, where he could have comforts and friends about him, I could close
his eyes, it seems to me, with thankfulness, for I do believe that the
Christian's hope is his."

Ruth's sympathizing tears had been flowing down her cheeks, as, with
her hand clasping that of Agnes, she had listened to her sad story. She
now rose, and said she would go to her husband, who was slightly
indisposed, and confined to his room, and prepare him to see Agnes. "And
do, Agnes, talk to him just as you have done to me," she said. "He is
called a stern man; but he has tender feelings, I can assure you, if the
right chord is only touched."

Ruth was gone a long time, and Agnes walked the floor of her room in a
state of suspense and agitation only equalled by that of the night after
the trial. At length Ruth returned: she looked sad and troubled.

"Agnes," said she, "you must see my husband yourself, and say to him all
you have said to me. He is deeply grateful for all you have done for me,
and would do anything in the world for you except what he thinks, or
what he seems to think, would be yielding to the call of feeling at the
expense of justice. He says his predecessor has been much censured for
so often granting pardons to criminals, especially to any who had
influential friends; and I fear that, in avoiding his errors, he will go
to the opposite extreme. He remembers your brother's case well, and
says, that though it could not be called _deliberate_ murder, still it
was murder; and he agrees with the lawyer, Mr. G----, that some signal
reproof should be given to this practice among the young men of carrying
about them offensive weapons. This is all he said; but he has consented
to see you, and is expecting you. I shall leave you alone with him; and
oh! Agnes, do speak as eloquently as you did to me. I know he cannot
resist it."

The Governor, a tall, fine-looking man, was wrapped in his
dressing-gown, and seated in his easy chair. He rose to receive Agnes,
gave her a cordial welcome as a friend to his wife, and bade her take a
seat beside him; but there was something in his look which said, that he
did not mean to be convinced against his better judgment by two women.

Agnes was at first too much agitated to speak; but the Governor kindly
re-assured her, by asking her some questions about her brother's case,
and soon she thought of nothing but him; her courage all revived; and
with an eloquence the more effective from being all unstudied, she told
her brother's story to the Governor. "He is so young," said she, "only
eighteen years old; and yet he must die. But, oh! sir, if you would but
save him from being dragged in his weakness to a death of shame, or from
lingering out his few remaining days in that close, dark cell; oh! if he
might only die free!"

"Ruth tells me," said the Governor, quietly, "that your uncle, Mr.
Wharton, is with you. Is it William Wharton, of C---- County?"

Agnes answered in the affirmative.

"Once a very good friend of mine," said he; "but it is many years since
we have met. Where is he?"

"He came to the door with me," answered Agnes, "and will return for me
soon. He hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, sir."

"I will see him when he comes," said the Governor. "Go you back to Ruth,
my dear young lady. I will think of all you have said."

When Mr. Wharton called, he was admitted to the Governor; and the two
former friends, after a cordial greeting, were closeted together for a
long time. He confirmed all that Agnes said of her brother, and assured
the Governor that it was the opinion of physicians that he could not
recover, and might not last a month. He spoke long and feelingly of the
devotion of Agnes to her brother, in attendance upon whom, in his
loneliness and imprisonment, she had worn out health and strength.

The eyes of the Governor now glistened with emotion as he said, "Well,
well, I hope I shall not be doing wrong. At what time do you leave in
the morning, Mr. Wharton?"

"In the very first train. Agnes cannot be longer from her brother's
bedside."

"Can you bring her here for one moment before you leave?"

"Certainly."

"Well, then, tell her to lie down to-night, and sleep in peace; and may
Heaven bless a sister so devoted, and a friend so true."

The Governor was not so well when Mr. Wharton and Agnes called the next
morning; but Ruth. appeared, her face radiant with joy, and, throwing
her arms around Agnes' neck, she put into her hand a _sealed paper_.

XX.

Twice Free.

"Oh liberty!

Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which
Life is as nothing."--KNOWLES.

Oh! the sunshine, and the glad earth, and the singing of the birds of
early spring, to the prisoner, sick, and worn, and weary! How the feeble
pulse already begins to throb with pleasure, and life which had seemed
so valueless before, looks lovely and much to be desired now.

The official announcement of the pardon reached Hillsdale almost as soon
as Agnes herself, and the friends of the young prisoner lost no time in
removing him as gently and as comfortably as possible, to his uncle's
kind home at Brook Farm. Here nothing was left undone by his devoted
friends to soothe his declining days; and with a heart overflowing with
gratitude and love, Lewie sank quietly towards the grave.

He was very gentle now, and the change in him was so great, that his
sister doubted not that repentance and faith had done their work. His
own doubts and fears were many, though sometimes a glimmering of hope
would beam through the clouds which seemed to have gathered about him.
One day, after a long conversation with Agnes upon the love and mercy of
God, he said:

"Well Agnes, it may be, there is hope for me too; I know He is
all-powerful and all-merciful; why, as you say, should not his mercy
extend even to me?"

"He is _able_ and _willing_ to save unto the uttermost," said Agnes.

"Unto--the--uttermost! Unto--the--uttermost!" repeated the sick youth
slowly; then looking up with his beautiful eye beaming with
expression;--

"Yes, Agnes," said he, "I will trust him!"

Day by day he grew weaker, and at times his sufferings were intense;
but such a wonderful patience and calmness possessed him, and he seemed
so to forget self in his thought for others, that Mrs. Wharton said, in
speaking of him:

"I never so fully realized the import of the words '_a new creature_.'
Who would think that this could be our impetuous, thoughtless Lewie, of
former times."

"You must make some allowance for the languor of sickness, my dear,"
said Mr. Wharton, who of course did not see so much of the invalid as
those who had the immediate charge of him.

"Weakness, I grant, would make him less impetuous and violent," answered
his wife, "but would it make him patient, and docile, and considerate,
if there were not some radical change in his feelings and temper?"

During the last few days of his life, and when the flickering flame was
hourly expected to die out, his uncle saw more of him, and he, too,
became convinced of the change in Lewie, and was certain that for him
to die would be gam. And at last, with words of prayer upon his lips and
a whisper of his sister's name, he sank away as gently as an infant
drops asleep.

"How like he looks," said old Mammy, with the tears streaming down her
withered cheeks, "how like he looks, with the bonny curls lying round
his forehead, to what he did the day he lay like death at the Hemlock's,
when he was only two years old."

Mrs. Wharton's mind immediately reverted to the scene, and to that young
mother's prayer of agony, "Oh, for his life! his life!" and as she
thought over the events of that short life of sin and sorrow, she said
within herself, "Oh! who can tell what to choose for his portion! Thou
Lord, who knowest the end from the beginning, choose Thou our changes
for us, and help us in the darkest hour to say, 'Thy will be done.'"

And in the quiet spot where the willow bends, and the brook murmurs, by
the side of his mother, and near the grave of Rhoda Edwards, rest the
remains of _Lewie_.

It is strange how much a human heart may suffer and yet beat on and
regain tranquillity, and even cheerfulness at last. It is a most
merciful provision of Providence, that our griefs do not always press
upon us as heavily as they do at first, else how could the burden of
this life of change and sorrow be borne. But the loved ones are not
forgotten when the tear is dried and the smile returns to the cheek;
they are remembered, but with less of sadness and gloom in the
remembrance; and at length, if we can think of them as happy, it is only
a pleasure to recall them to mind.

So Agnes found it, as after a few months of rest and quiet in her
uncle's happy home, the gloom of her sorrow began to fade away, the
color returned to her cheek, and she began to be like the Agnes of
former times. And now that health and energy had returned, she began to
long for employment again, and though she knew it would cost a great
struggle to leave her dear friends at Brook Farm, she began to urge them
all to be on the watch for a situation for her as governess or teacher.

At length, one day, some months after her brother's death, Mr. Wharton
entered the room where she was sitting, and said:

"Agnes, there is a gentleman down stairs, who would like to engage you
to superintend the education of his children."

If Agnes had looked closely at her uncle's face, she would have observed
a very peculiar expression there; but only laying aside her work, she
said:

"Please say to him, uncle, that I will come down in one moment."

With a quiet step and an unpalpitating heart, Agnes opened the parlor
door, and found herself alone with--Mr. Harrington!

And here we will end our short chapter, though enough was said that
morning to make it a very long one, as it certainly was an eventful one
in the history of Agnes.

XXI

The Winding Up or the Turning Point, whichever the Reader likes Best.

"Still at thy father's board
There is kept a place for thee
And by thy smile restored,
Joy round the hearth shall be."--MRS. HEMANS.

"He will not blush that has a father's heart,
To take in childish plays a childish part,
But bends his sturdy back to any toy
That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy."--Cowper

"What do you think, Calista?--what _do_ you think?" asked Miss Evelina
Fairland of her sister, about two years after she had asked these same
questions before. "There are masons, and carpenters, and painters, and
paperers, and gardeners, at work at the old Rookery; a perfect army of
laborers have been sent down from the city. What can it mean?"

"I cannot imagine, I am sure," answered Miss Calista, "unless Mr.
Harrington is really going to settle down, and look out for a wife at
last." And Miss Calista looked in the glass over her sister's shoulder,
and both faces looked more faded and considerably older than when we saw
them last.

"Do you know," said Miss Evelina, "that I really believe Agnes Elwyn
thought the man was in love with _her_?"

"Absurd!" exclaimed Miss Calista. "Besides, if he ever had entertained
such a thought, he would not, of course, think of anything of the kind
since that affair of her brother's. Such a disgrace, you know!"

The appearance of the old Rookery changed so rapidly, that it seemed
almost as if the fairies had been at work; and in a few weeks, glimpses
of a fair and elegant mansion, with its pretty piazzas and porticos,
could be seen between the noble oaks which surrounded the mansion. And
now Miss Calista and Evelina, who kept themselves informed of all that
was going on at the Rookery, reported that "the _most magnificent_
furniture" had come, and the curtains and pictures were being hung, and
it was certain that the owner of the place would be there soon.

At length a travelling carriage, in which was seated Mr. Harrington,
with a lady by his side, and two little girls in front, was seen by
these indefatigable ladies to drive rapidly through the street, and out
towards the Rookery. The lady was in mourning, and her veil was down.
Who could she be?

And now it was rumored in the village that Mr. Harrington was actually
married; and whenever he met any of his old acquaintances, he invited
them with great cordiality to call to see his wife. The Misses Fairland
determined not to be outdone by any, and, the more effectually to
conceal their own disappointment, were among the first to call.

Who can conceive of their astonishment and mortification, when they
found that the mistress of the Rookery was no other than the former
governess, Agnes Elwyn! Agnes received them with the utmost kindness;
begged them to ask their father, whom she remembered with much
affection, to come very soon to see her; was much pleased to hear how
happy Rosa and Jessie were at Mrs. Arlington's; and brought them tidings
of Frank, who was under Mr. Malcolm's care.

"And where is that delightful gentleman who was with Mr. Harrington,
when he was here two summers since--Mr. Wharton I think his name was?"
asked Miss Evelina.

"Mr. Tom Wharton? Oh, he will be here in a few days. He has purchased
the place next to us, and is about to build there. I suppose, as it is
no longer a secret, I may tell you that he is soon to be married to my
cousin, Effie Wharton. They will remain with us most of the time till
their house is finished."

The countenances of the visitors fell on hearing this, and they soon
rose and took leave.

And now we know not better how to wind up or _run down_ our story, than
to pass over two or three years and introduce our reader to another
Christmas party at Mr. Wharton's, for it still is the custom, for all
the scattered members of the family to gather in the paternal mansion to
spend the Christmas holidays.

Mr. and Mrs. Wharton appear as a fine-looking middle-aged couple, on
whom the years sit lightly, for their lives have been happy and useful
ones, and there is no such preservative of fresh and youthful looks, as
a contented mind and an untroubled conscience. The two older sons are
married. Robert is settled as a clergyman in a western village, and
Albert as a merchant in the city; these with their wives, most charming
women both, are there.

Mr. Malcolm, who wondered more and more that he ever had the presumption
to suppose that such a woman as Emily Wharton could fancy him, at last
so recovered from his disappointment as again to entertain thoughts of
matrimony; and he and our friend Grace have been married about six
months, and are nicely settled in their own pretty house at Hillsdale,
where Mr. Malcolm is still the loved and honored pastor. Cousin Emily,
calm and tranquil as ever to all outward appearance, aided in the
preparations and appeared at the wedding, and it was no cause of
wonderment to any, that she was confined to her bed the next day with
one of her nervous headaches, for great excitement and fatigue were
always too much for cousin Emily.

Mr. Tom Wharton and Effie are at home too, the former no whit more
sedate, in consequence of the added dignities of husband and father
which attach to him.

And our own dear Agnes is there too, with her husband, her two little
step-daughters, and her own little boy, a noble, handsome little fellow,
but with some traits of character which occasionally cause a pang to
cross the heart of his mother; they remind her so of the childhood of
one whose sun went down so early and so sadly. But we hope much that
proper training, with the divine blessing, will so mould and guide this
tender plant, that it will grow up to be an ornament and a blessing to
all around, Agnes makes just such a step-mother as we should expect,
and her dear little girls feel that in her they have indeed found a
mother.

But long after all the rest of the large party have been seated at the
dinner-table, there remains a vacant seat, and here at last slowly comes
the expected occupant.

What, cousin Betty! alive yet? Yes, and "alive like to be," till she has
finished her century. She retains many of her old, strange habits, but
has long since given up _dying_, as others begin to expect such an event
to happen in the ordinary course of nature; indeed, it rather hurts
cousin Betty's feelings to be spoken of as a very aged person, or as one
whose time on earth is probably short. She is laying her plans for the
future as busily as any one, and it may be that her old wrinkled face
will be seen in its accustomed haunts long after some of the blooming
ones around that board are mouldering in the grave.

Old Mammy too, whose home has been with Agnes ever since her marriage,
has come back to her old home for the Christmas holidays. But Mammy is
a good deal broken, and nothing is required of her by her kind mistress,
except such little offices as it is a pleasure to her to perform.

Cousin Emily, the "old maid cousin," as she calls herself, is in great
demand; indeed, as she says, she is a perfect "bone of contention," and
in order to keep peace with all, she has had to divide the year into
four parts, and give three months to each of those who have the
strongest claim upon her time. It is always a season of rejoicing when
cousin Emily arrives, with her ever cheerful face, her entertaining
conversation for the older ones, and her fund of stories and anecdotes
for the children.

After dinner came an old-fashioned Christmas frolic, and the older ones
were children again, and the children as wild and noisy as they chose to
be. Mr. Wharton on entering the room suddenly, saw his nephew, Mr. Tom,
going around the room on all fours, as a horse, driven by his only son
and heir, Master Tom, junior.

"Tom," said Mr. Wharton suddenly, "how do you prefer calf's head?"

"What do you mean by that, uncle?" said Mr. Tom, pausing a moment and
looking up.

"I took some notes of a certain conversation which took place some years
ago," said his uncle, "in which a certain young gentleman called a
certain old gentleman _a calf_, because he made such a fool of himself
as to be a horse for his little son to drive; and this young gentleman
said he would sooner eat his head, than make such an exhibition of
himself."

"Well, circumstances do alter cases, don't they, uncle?" said Mr. Tom,
beginning to prance about again under the renewed blows of the whip in
Master Tom junior's hand.

Mrs. Arlington and her daughters still keep their school, which is as
popular and flourishing as ever. Rosa and Jessie Fairland are still
under their care, and it is a great pleasure to Agnes to see what fine,
agreeable girls they are growing up to be. They retain a warm affection
for Agnes and pass many a pleasant day at the Rookery, when they are at
home for a vacation. Frank is still under Mr. Malcolm's care, and a
member of his family, Mr. Malcolm finds him a much more tractable pupil
than one we know of, to whom he tried to do his duty many years ago. And
we must not close without saying a word of the kind, true-hearted, Ruth
Glenn. Governor F----, at the close of his term of office was
re-elected, and when at last he left the city and returned to his
country home, it was with the deep regrets of all the many friends which
his residence in the capitol had not failed to create for himself, and
his amiable wife. As she passed within a few miles of Wilston, Mrs.
F---- turned out of her way to stop and pay Agnes a short visit, and she
found again the bright and cheerful Agnes of former times; and many a
pleasant hour the friends enjoyed together, in talking over the days and
_nights_ at Mrs. Arlington's school, for even out of the latter they
could now draw some amusing recollections.

Miss Calista and Miss Evelina are still on the "look out." The wife of
the clergyman at Wilston, having died about a year since, Miss Calista,
ever ready to take advantage of any _opening_, began immediately to
attend church very regularly, and with a vary sanctimonious and
attentive air. It remains to be seen whether anything comes of it.

And now our task is done. If the sad story of the short life of poor
Lewie, will be the means of leading any mother to use more carefully and
more conscientiously, the power which she _alone_ possesses now, of
training aright the little plants in her nursery, so that they may grow
up fair and flourishing, and bear good fruit; and in time repay her care
by the fragrance and beauty and comfort which they shower about her
declining days, it will be enough. And may each little plant, so
trained, bloom evermore in the paradise of God.

THE END.

Every one is Enraptured with the Book--Every one will Read it!

SIX THOUSAND PUBLISHED IN THIRTY DAYS!

UPS AND DOWNS,

Or Silver Lake Sketches.

BY COUSIN CICELY, Author of Lewie or the Bended Twig

_One Elegant 12mo. Vol., with Ten Illustrations by Coffin, and engraved

by the best artists. Cloth, gilt_, $1.25.

ALDEN & BEARDSLEY, Auburn and Rochester, N.Y., Publishers

_The Critics give it Unqualified Commendation_.

Cousin Cicely's "Lewie, or the Bended Twig," published and widely read
not long ago, was a volume to sharpen the reader's appetite for "more of
the same sort." ***** 'Ups and Downs' is a cluster of sketches and
incidents in real life, narrated with a grace of thought and flow of
expression rarely to be met. The sketches well entitle the volume to its
name, for they are pictures of many sides of life--some grave, some gay,
some cheering and some sad, pervaded by a genial spirit and developing
good morals.

Either of the fifteen sketches will amply repay the purchaser of the
volume, and unless our judgment is false, _after a careful reading_,
"Ups and Downs" will make an impression beyond "the pleasant effect to
while away a few unoccupied moments." The Publishers have given Cousin
Cicely's gems a setting worthy of their brilliancy. The ten
illustrations are capital in design and execution, and it strikes us as
remarkable how such a volume can be profitably got up at the price for
which it is sold. The secret must lie in large circulation--which "Ups
and Downs" is certain to secure.--N.Y. _Evening Mirror_.

_Who is Cousin Cicely_?--We begin to think Cousin Cicely is _somebody_,
and feel disposed to ask, who is she? We several months ago noticed her
"Lewie" in this journal. It is a story with a fine moral, beautiful and
touching in its development. It has already quietly made its way to a
circulation of _twelve thousand_, "without beating a drum or crying
oysters." Pretty good evidence that there is something in it. Our
readers have already had a taste of "_Ups and Downs_," for we find among
its contents a story entitled "_Miss Todd, M.D., or a Disease of the
Heart_," which was published in this journal a few months ago We venture
to say that _no one_ who read has forgotten it, and those who remember
it will be glad to know where they can find plenty more of the "same
sort."--_U.S. Journal_.

* * * Sketches of life as it is, and of some things as they should be;
all drawn with a light pencil, and abounding with touches of real
genius, Cousin Cicely has improved her former good reputation in our
opinion, by this effort.--_The Wesleyan_.

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