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Page 2
Between the garden and the house was the well. A long sweep, resting on
the top of a high post, with a pole fastened to the upper end, was the
rude contrivance for drawing water. To the lower end of the pole was
attached a bucket. How many of New-England's sons remember with delight
the "old oaken bucket that hung in the well!"
On the north side of the house was a small orchard. In the rear were the
barn, sheds, crib, and other out-buildings.
The grounds in the immediate neighborhood were level or slightly
undulated. On the north and east were beautiful meadows. On the south
and west were excellent tillage and pasture lands. The season that I
spent there was one of nature's bountifulness. The tall herd's-grass,
the rustling corn, and the whitened grain waved in the summer's breeze,
and bespoke the plenty that followed the toil and industry of the
husbandman. The herds were feeding in the fields. The innocent lambs,
free from care, were leaping and frisking about--some in the sun and
some in the shade--while their more sober dames were either grazing, or
quietly masticating the food they had previously collected.
Half encircling these premises was a fine stream of water, varying from
three to seven yards in width. It was supplied with dace, trout, roach,
and perch. Its plaintive, monotonous murmur sometimes impressed the mind
with sadness. This was soon dispelled, however, by the twittering, the
glee, and the sweet notes of the birds, that hopped from spray to spray,
or quietly perched themselves on the overhanging branches.
Some little distance to the northwest of Mr. Duran's house was a forest
of thrifty growth, covered with a varied and beautiful foliage. Its
shady bowers and pleasant walks made it a delightful place of
resort,--especially toward the time of sunsetting. Nature seemed to lend
to it then peculiar charms.
In the centre of the town stood the old church, antiquated in its
appearance, but venerable and holy in its associations. In that
old-fashioned church have been settled three successive ministers of the
gospel. In those high-backed, square pews were other generations wont to
sit. Those pastors and their flocks now sleep in the grave. Their sons
occupy their places in the sanctuary, and another herald of the cross
proclaims to them the word of life. It was in this pleasant place, which
I have briefly described, that Charles Duran was born.
CHAPTER II.
THE BIRTH OF CHARLES.
The birth of Charles was an occasion of great joy in Mr. Duran's family.
Blessings long withheld are frequently more highly prized when at length
received. Mr. Duran had no children, and was now past the meridian of
life. To him this child seemed like one born out of due time.
It was amusing to see the effect produced on the parents by this, till
recently, unexpected event. "Well, Molly," said Mr. Jones,--a neighbor
of Mr. Duran, whose wife had just been to see the strange visitant, and
who had reared a large family of children,--"how do Mr. and Mrs. Duran
act with the boy?" "Act? why just like two grown-up children. And they
think it is the most wonderful child that ever was born. But they don't
know what it may live to be!"
These last words were spoken in a tone of voice which told of hidden
springs of sorrow. One of Mrs. Jones' own dear children, a promising,
lovely boy, had early become intemperate, and was now sleeping in a
drunkard's grave!
Having passed through the ordinary nursery incidents of the first months
of infancy, Charley--for so he was familiarly called--became a fine fat
child. "Sweet boy," said his mother, as she rather clumsily patted his
cheeks, and felt of his tender limbs, "you will be a comfort to your
parents in their old age."
"I was just thinking of that," added the father. "What a blessing he
will be to us! He will manage the farm--administer to our comfort, and
inherit our estate."
Many a bright sunny morning has been followed by a dark cloudy evening.
Our supposed blessings often prove to us a source of disappointment and
sorrow. I have seen the mother clasp her lovely infant to her breast,
and fondly and dotingly caress it, and press its little hands and feet,
soft as velvet, with her lips. And I have seen that child, the rainbow
of promise, and the cause of so much joy, bring down that mother's head,
ere it was gray, with sorrow to the grave.
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