Conscript’s Return.
Adolph was received by the villagers on the shore with hearty welcome, and was conducted toward his former residence. As he entered the little hamlet, he turned slowly into the church, and at the foot of the humble altar poured out to Heaven the thanks which swelled up in his heart for his return. And near him one heart gushing with love and gratitude was breathing out its thanksgiving that the wanderer had first sought the house of God.
THE RETURN.
The post-office the next day supplied a letter, without post-mark, giving Adolph an officer’s commission for the gallantry that saved his colonel’s life at the imminent risk of his own, and extending his furlough for a year.
“But Louise,” said Adolph, “how your complexion has suffered since I saw you.”
“I have been absent for some weeks.”
“Yes, and these mountain relatives of yours always look of about the same color as one of their ripe grapes.”
Adolph having now some position, and a source of reliance upon his good resolution, presented himself before Madam Berien to solicit formally the hand of her daughter.
The matter had evidently occupied the worthy lady’s attention, as she consented at once, referred to an early day for the marriage, and desired that her own house might be the residence of her son-in-law and his wife.
“Surely, Providence is too good to me,” said Adolph, when he announced to Louise the result of his negotiation.
“Has it ever failed you when you really relied upon it?”
“Did it not allow me to be sent to the army, and to suffer horribly? I do believe I should have died without Klemm.”
“Has not your campaign resulted in the adoption of a sounder code of morals, a restoration to religious exercises, and the acquisition of rank, and in our almost immediate marriage? And will not Klemm be here at our wedding?”
“I hope so, but faith Klemm is such a well-made handsome little fellow, that I might wish him to tarry until after our marriage. I should not like to find him and you chatting German sentiment together in the German language.”
“And why not, Adolph?”
“I might fear that the sleek little secretary would outshine the wounded lieutenant.”
“Fear, Adolph! You would not fear.”
“Why not?” asked he, with a smile.
“Die vollige Liebe treibet die Furcht aus,” said Louise, with a strong German accent.
“Good Heaven, Louise! where did you find that quotation, and where that accent and look?”
“Why, the quotation is from the Bible, and the accent is as true German as my grape-raising relatives know how to give.”
No Klemm arrived as Adolph hoped, and so the bridal party set forward to the church where Father Rudolph was awaiting their arrival. The simple but interesting ceremony was concluded, and as the party rose from their last genuflection toward the altar, Louise whispered into her husband’s ear:
“Klemm has come!”
“Where—where is he? Oh! how I long to have him share in the happiness which I enjoy, and he will share in it, for it is of his own producing. Oh! Louise, could you but know—but I have told you all I can tell; yet I cannot express what I feel for that young man’s beautiful devotion to my good—to him alone, next to God, am I indebted for this day’s unspeakable delight.”
“I thought you owed it to me,” said Louise.
“To you—to you indeed, that you are mine—but to him that I was made worthy of your acceptance. Dear Louise, I am afraid you must share—”
“Afraid, Adolph—‘Die vollige Liebe treibet die Furcht aus.’ ”
“Louise, you confound me—whose is that tone of voice—whose that arch look? Surely you are not yourself now?”
“Not this moment, Adolph. Just now I am Klemm!”
The sacrifices of Louise had been accepted in Heaven—of course they were appreciated on earth, and “perfect love which casteth out fear,” had lured the wanderer back to religion, and had been rewarded in its good performed and the power of doing good.
TO MY STEED.
———
BY S. D. ANDERSON.
———
Come forth, my brave steed, for the dew’s on the flowers,
And we will away with the speed of the hours;
The breath of the summer-time rides on the gale,
And health is abroad on each mountain and dale.
Come forth, for the lark is alive with his song,
And the bound of my pulses is life-like and strong;
It is gladness to see the wild fire of thine eye,
And feel thy light tread as the breeze rushes by.
Come forth, my own Arab, the Sun is asleep,
And the tears of the morning thy dark mane shall steep;
Thou shalt drink from the gushes of Summer’s cool streams,
E’er the flow of the fountain is tipt with morn’s beams.
Come forth to the greenwood whilst perfume is there,
And we’ll start the wild deer from his slumbering lair;
The leap of the cascade, and dash of the spray,
Shall echo more faint as we hurry away.
Come forth, my brave steed—far truer art thou
Than the smile on the lip, or the light on the brow;
More faithful than promises lovers may breathe,
Or the garlands of fame that a nation may wreath.
Come forth—I am ready—hurrah for the hills,
Whilst the harp-string of pleasure with ecstasy thrills;
No hour like the morning—no scene like to this
In all the wide world, for a moment of bliss.
JASPER ST. AUBYN;
OR THE COURSE OF PASSION.
———
BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT.
———
(Concluded from page 262.)