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with what I have seen many endure, in consequence of the
I stood beside a man on the field of battle, who was killed by the same ball by which I was wounded. We fell together; and after I had fallen, feeling the most excruciating pain, I looked upon my companion in arms, as he lay motionless at my side, and envied him his situation, as he had been instantly killed, while I still lived, as I then felt, but to suffer.
• As soon as practicable, continued the young man, 'I was removed from the gory bed upon which I lay, and carried to a hospital ; my wound was dressed, sooner than I might have expected, considering the number of those who required attention ; and every thing was done for me that could be, under the circumstances; yet as the weather was exceedingly warm, my sufferings were most
« On the eighth day after my wounds were dressed, the surgeon
informed me that it was necessary my arm should be amputated. I submitted to the operation, and amid the great agony it occasioned, felt supported by the hope that after this was over, I might soon be well. In this, however, I was disappointed; for before the expiration of a week after the first amputation had been performed, the surgeon, one morning, told me that I should be obliged to part with yet another portion of the limb.
“My feelings revolted at the idea, and I implored him to allow me to die as I then was. He said that his duty required him to perform the operation, and I was accordingly obliged to submit to it.
After my first sufferings were past, he told me that he even now saw but a slight chance of my recovery, and that I had better, while it was in my power to do so, dictate a letter to you, lest you should never be informed of my fate. I did so; but as you have not received it, I presume it was miscarried. The weather became cooler soon after these occurrences, and to the astonishment of all who saw me, aided by the most simple means, I rapidly regained
And now, my dear mother, I hope you will forgive my undutiful conduct in leaving home against your wishes. Had I done as you desired, how much suffering should I have escaped.'
His mother, almost overcome by the intensity of her emotions, responded, "You have long been forgiven, my
I am overjoyed to see you once more ; yet I cannot but be grieved to see you thus maimed, so early in life. 0, what misery does war bring upon those who engage in it! When will the time arrive, that men shall “ beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruninghooks,” and the “nations learn war no more ?” must be weary, my son ; we will not, therefore, prolong this conversation, cheering as it is to my heart to be permitted again to hear your voice.
Retire now to your chamber, and at some future time we will listen to the further recital of your adventures.'
It was not many weeks after the return of Loraine, before Mrs. Johnson discovered that something preyed upon his spirits ; she thought he appeared to make an effort to seem cheerful, whenever he saw that she observed his depression.
Mrs. Johnson did not know exactly the cause of his dejection. He had acquired the habit of writing with his
left hand, and being able to use it almost as readily as he had been his right one, had obtained lucrative employment as clerk in a manufacturing establishment, not far distant from his home. She inferred, therefore, that his depression was occasioned by some other cause than the loss of
She knew that ere he left home to enter upon a military life, he had been greatly interested in a young lady, of an age near his own, who was a grand-daughter of the late Mr. Weldron. Loraine was much attached to this relative, whose name was Fanny ; yet she appeared regardless of his feelings, and treated him with all the heartlessness of a real coquette.
His mother felt confident that had the influence of this individual been exerted over the mind of her son for good, he would never have pursued the course which had been attended with such unfortunate results as had his volunteering to fight for his country. She feared, though he had not seen Fanny since his return, that a remembrance of the past cast a shade of gloom over his mind. In this, however, she was mistaken ; as she soon learned from the effects of a letter which he received from the place where he last enrolled his name as a soldier.
The letter was written by a gentleman, who was the father of a young lady, to whom he had engaged himself to be united in wedlock, ere he went to engage in scenes
He had visited her while on the way to his mother, and knew that, although he was changed in person, her feelings towards him remained the same as they were when he last saw her, at their sad parting. While with her, on his return, his emotions were mingled and various He was ardently attached to this interesting
young person; yet he felt embarrassed in regard to speaking upon the subject of their union, now that he had become a cripple, and resolved to remain silent in reference to it, unless it should first be introduced by the father of Eliza.
As he was anxious to behold his mother again, he did not tarry long with these friends, at this time, but hastened home. Not one word in reference to his engagement with Eliza had been spoken by her father, during his visit; and he feared that pride would prevent his consenting to receive a person into his family, situated as he then was. No wonder, then, when he broke the seal of this letter, and perceived that it had been written in a spirit of kindness, by Eliza's father, that his mind was at once relieved of the burden of anxiety which had for sometime oppressed it.
The old gentleman expressed a desire that he should return to N- as soon as he could, consistently, and informed him that he was as willing, now, to have Eliza become his bride, as he was before the occurrence of his misfortune. Loraine did not need urging to the discharge of the duty he owed his much-loved Eliza, and made preparations to return to her immediately.
His mother grieved at the idea of another separation ; still she was glad that the mind of her son had risen superior to the baneful influence which the attractive, yet indiscreet Fanny had once exerted over him; and when he left her she was consoled by the reflection that he was not now to be afloat upon the wide world, without a friend to confide in, but was soon to settle in life with a woman whose influence over him would be good.
Fanny Rice — Coquetry - Clandestine Marriage - Lost Mother —
ANTICIPATING the desire of some of our readers to know something more of Fanny, we shall here give a sketch of her history. Dark is the picture presented when crime is portrayed in the character of the sterner sex; but a darker shade overspreads it when woman she who ought to exert her influence over man on the side of morality and religion — becomes guilty and degraded.
Such a portrait is placed before the reader in the character of Fanny Rice.
She was the eldest daughter of parents who prided themselves in training her so that she might become an object of attraction among the fashionable and genteel. They taught her to regard the letter of the moral law (though themselves understood not its spirit), and wished her to obey its precepts. By undue indulgence, they early sowed the seeds of pride and vanity in the mind of Fanny, yet seemed unconscious of the mournful fact.
Fanny was not exquisitely beautiful, though she was fair to look upon. The expression of her countenance was amiable, and intelligent, and full of vivacity. Her form was slender, yet well proportioned. She knew that she