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go, and he was wounded in a battle with a French rigate. He was landed at Boston, where we have elatives, and, recovering, wandered to a town on he frontier and was captured by the Indians.” “Did you never seek to find him?” “Yes; I have tried often to find him, but could not.” “And you have never seen him?” “No; I have never seen him since we parted that day in Boston.” The pedestrian heaved a sigh and looked puzzled. After a moment he asked: “Have you no other brothers or sisters?” “No, sir.” “And your father was wealthy?” “He left behind him several great plantations and more riches than I or my children will ever need.” “By the loss of your brother, you came into the inheritance of all this wealth, when, if he had lived, he might, had your father so willed it, divided it with you?” “He would have done so, stranger,” Mr. Stevens vehemently cried. “He should do so were he living even yet. I had my father so construct his will as to provide that, if my brother should ever return, he would have one half of the plantations. Four have been set apart for him with the increase thereof, and willingly would I give them to him, could he but return; but no, George is dead. I used to hope, long years ago, that he lived; but that hope exists no longer. He is dead.”
The pedestrian was moved, when the old man, with his silken handkerchief, brushed a glistening tear from his eyes. After a long silence, the traveller asked:
“Were you with the fleet of Sir Hovenden Walker, which was wrecked in the mouth of the St. Lawrence?”
** I Was. »
“Did you land?”
“I did. With a few others in a boat we were lost from the other vessels, and were attracted by a light on the shore, where a stranger had builded a fire.”
“I was that stranger.”
Mr. Stevens was so affected by this announcement, that he could only sit and stare at the pedestrian in amazement. After a few moments, he gasped:
*: You !”
“Yes, I; do you not recognize me?”
*: No. »
“Why did your boat crew abandon me on that morning, after I had saved your life?”
“When day dawned, and the fog cleared away,
we wanted to get back to our ships which were Preparing to leave. You had gone off into the woods rather mysteriously, and we feared it was your intention to betray us.” Then the two old men sat for a long time in silence. It was the wayfarer who first spoke. ". . . . . “Elmer Stevens,” s poor ||| he began in a voice of 5
forced calmness, “answer me truly. Did you not recognize in the person who built the beacon fire, one, who by right should share these broad acres, fruitful fields and comfortable houses with you? Did you not reason that, by leaving him alone in the wilderness to die, you would have all, instead of half?” Elmer Stevens had risen to his feet and, with eyes widely distended in wonder, cried: “In God's name, sir, what do you mean?” “Elmer Stevens, we are both growing old. We cannot live long, let us above all be honest and truthful now, for we must soon be called to account for the deeds done in the body. Answer me truly; did you not recognize that wounded man, whose beacon 'fire on that dark night guided your bark ashore?” “No, as God is my judge, I did not. His face was bandaged from a wound in the head until it was almost concealed.” “And you knew not who he was?” “No; so help me heaven, I did not.” “He recognized you.” “But I was not wounded—my face was not concealed with bandages; who was he?” “Your brother.” “And you?” “I am he. I am George Stevens.” A few moments later, when a negro passed the piazza, he was amazed to see his master and an old white-haired man embracing each other and weeping tears of joy. The brothers had met.
Of all the torments, all the cares,
Of all the plagues a lover bears,
By partners in each other kind,
Companions in our woe.
“GENERAL WASHINGTON, Captain Dagworthy refuses to obey your orders,” said Noah Stevens one day, on entering the tent of his superior.
“He served in Canada in the preceding war and received a king's commission,” answered Noah.
“That is quite true; yet he since commuted it to half pay and, of course, thereby virtually parted with its privileges,” returned Washington.
“Nevertheless, he assumes to act under royal commission and refuses to obey the orders of any
officer, however high his rank, who merely holds