"Better than gold!" shouted the prisoner, and sank helpless upon the platform.
That day John Smith was arrested, and, being bluntly charged with the murder, confessed all. Castello was immediately released, and went forth a free man.
In four weeks Smith was no more of earth; he had paid the penalty of his crimes, and died not only a murderer but a perjured man.
The next Sabbath the pastor of the church discoursed upon the subject, and an indescribable thrill pervaded the hearts of some of the people as they repeated the words, "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us."
GONE AWAY.
HERE, where now are mighty cities,
Once the Indians' wigwam stood;
Once their council-fires illumined,
Far and near, the tangled wood.
Here, on many a grass-grown border,
Then they met, a happy throng;
Rock and hill and valley sounded
With the music of their song.
Now they are not,—they have vanished,
And a voice doth seem to say,
Unto him who waits and listens,
"Gone away,—gone away."
Yonder in those valleys gathered
Many a sage in days gone by;
Thence the wigwam's smoke ascended,
Slowly, peacefully, on high.
Indian mothers thus their children
Taught around the birchen fire,—
"Look ye up to the great Spirit!
To his hunting-grounds aspire."
Now those fires are all extinguished;
Fire and wigwam, where are they?
Hear ye not those voices whispering,
"Gone away,—gone away!"
Here the Indian girl her tresses
Braided with a maiden's pride;
Here the lover wooed and won her,
On Tri-mountain's grassy side.
Here they roamed from rock to river,
Mountain peak and hidden cave;
Here the light canoe they paddled
O'er the undulating wave.
All have vanished-lovers, maidens,
Meet not on these hills to-day,
But unnumbered voices whisper,
"Gone away,—gone away!"
"Gone away!" Yes, where the waters
Of the Mississippi roll,
And Niagara's ceaseless thunders
With their might subdue the soul,
Now the noble Indian standeth
Gazing at the eagle's flight,
Conscious that the great good Spirit
Will accomplish all things right.
Though like forest-leaves they're passing,
They who once held boundless sway,
And of them 't will soon be written,
"Gone away,—gone away!"
As they stand upon the mountain,
And behold the white man press
Onward, onward, never ceasing,
Mighty in his earnestness;
As they view his temples rising,
And his white sails dot the seas,
And his myriad thousands gathering,
Hewing down the forest trees;
Thus they muse: "Let them press onward,
Not far distant is the day
When of them a voice shall whisper,
'Gone away,—gone away!'"
LINES TO MY WIFE.
THOU art ever standing near me,
In wakeful hours and dreams;
Like an angel-one, attendant
On life and, all its themes;
And though I wander from thee,
In lands afar away,
I dream of thee at night, and wake
To think of thee by day.
In the morning, when the twilight,
Like a spirit kind and true,
Comes with its gentle influence,
It whispereth of you.
For I know that thou art present,
With love that seems to be
A band to bind me willingly
To heaven and to thee.
At noon-day, when the tumult and
The din of life is heard,
When in life's battle each heart is
With various passions stirred,
I turn me from the blazonry,
The fickleness of life,
And think of thee in earnest thought,
My dearest one-my wife!
When the daylight hath departed,
And shadows of the night
Bring forth the stars, as beacons fair
For angels in their flight,
I think of thee as ever mine,
Of thee as ever best,
And turn my heart unto thine own,
To seek its wonted rest.
Thus ever thou art round my path,
And doubly dear thou art
When, with my lips pressed to thine own,
I feel thy beating heart.
And through the many joys and griefs,
The lights and shades of life,
It will be joy to call thee by
The holy name of "wife!"
I love thee for thy gentleness,
I love thee for thy truth;
I love thee for thy joyousness,
Thy buoyancy of youth
I love thee for thy soul that soars
Above earth's sordid pelf;
And last, not least, above these all,
I love thee for thyself.
Now come to me, my dearest,
Place thy hand in mine own;
Look in mine eyes, and see how deep
My love for thee hath grown;
And I will press thee to my heart,
Will call thee "my dear wife,"
And own that thou art all my joy
And happiness of life.
CHEER UP.
CHEER up, cheer up, my own fair one!
Let gladness take the place of sorrow;
Clouds shall not longer hide the sun,—
There is, there is a brighter morrow!
'T is coming fast. I see its dawn.
See! look you, how it gilds the mountain!
We soon shall mark its happy morn,
Sending its light o'er stream and fountain.
My bird sings with a clearer note;
He seems to know our hopes are brighter,
And almost tires his little throat
To let us know his heart beats lighter.
I wonder if he knows how dark
The clouds were when they gathered o'er us!
No matter,—gayly as a lark
He sings that bright paths are before us.
So cheer thee up, my brightest, best!
For clear's the sky, and fair's the weather.
Since hand in hand we've past the test,
Hence heart in heart we'll love together.