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Show 50 RTCIJ,\TID liUflDlS. must even make th~ most of tltc evil, ancl do ns well with it ns I can.• "Do nothing with it-ltave done with it! Believe better of yourself and others. Think better of J\'Iary Eastcrby and youl' brother." "I can not! You nsk me to think better of tlJCm, yet name them togctl1cr. To IH'tvc been successful in your wish, you should have put them as far nsundcr as the poles. Dut say no more to me now, "\Villiam. I am alrcncly fcvcrccl, and can hear nothing, or heed notlling that I hear. I must sleep now." "VV ell, as you will. But, look out and tell me what sort of night we have. I ·would be sure of a pleasant day to~rnorrow." llc was already in his bed, and I ]ookcd out as he desired. 'The stars were few :mel gave a faint light. '£he winds were rising, and n. murmur, nlmost a monn, came ft·om the black forests in the distance. It seemed like the voice of a spirit, and it came to me as if in warning. I turned to my companion, but he was already asleep. I could not then sleep, desire it as I might. I em·ied him-not his happiness, but what I then misdeemed his insensibility. I c011founded the quiet mind, at peace with aH the world and in itself secure, with tho callous and unfeeling nature. Sleep is only tho boon of the mind conscious of its own rectitude, and having no jealous doubts of that of its fellows. I had no such consciousness and could not sleep. I resumed my seat beside the window, and long thn.t night did I watch the scene-lovely beyond comparison-before, in utter exhaustion, I laid my head upon the pillow. The night in tho forests of Alabama wns never more beautiful tl1an then. rl'hero was no speck in the heaven-not even the illuminated shadow of a cloud-and the murmm of the wind swelling in gusts from the close curtaining woods, was a music, rather than a. mere murmur. In the vexed condition of my mood, the hurricane had been more soothing to my rest, and more grateful to my senses. FARF.WELL TO HOME, CHAPTER VII. 1-'AlllH\'ELL TO HOME. "My fnthcr blessed me fervcnth· J3ut. did not much complain·;' Yet SOJ'ely will my mother sigh, Till I come horne ngain,"-BYRON, 51 A~ tbe dawn of day I rose, and, without waiting breakfast, 1nuned off to tl1e l1abitation of my fatl1er. I should 11ave slept at home the last night, but that I could not, under my excited state of feeling, huvc trusted myself to meet Jobn lim·dis. For that mntter; how~ver, I might l1ave safely ventured; for be, probably w1th a l1ke caution, had also slept from l1ome. It was arranged between \Villinm Carrington and myself that we were to meet at mid-day, at a spot upon the road equidistant from both plantations, and tl1en proceed together. The time between was devoted to our respective partinrrs-he with Emmeline \\T a!kcr, UJ.ld I with my father and motl~cr. Could it l1ave been avo1ded w1th propriety, I sl10uld have prefened to leave this duty un~one. ~wished to spare my old motl1er any unneeessa: y pam. n.esi(les, to look llcr in the face, and belJo]d lier ~r1ef at the tune when I meditated to make our separation a fm~l one, would, I well knew, be n trial of my own strength to wlnch I was ~y no 1~enns willing to subject it. 1\fy se1150 of duty forbade 1ts cvas10n, however, and I prepared for it with as much manful resolve as I could muster. .My mother's reproaches were less painful to me tban tJ16 cold and sullen forbearance of my fatl1er. Since I had resolved to work for 1lim no 1onger, ho did not seem to care very greatly where I slop~. Not that he was indifferent; but his annoyance at my rcso1utwn to lcaYe l1im made him less heedful of my other |
