of your
father's in just that abashed way? Will must have fallen into some sad
scrape.--Well, he is a good fellow, and you will help him out of it!

You look up as he goes on with his story;--you grow perplexed
yourself;--you scarce believe your own ears.

----"Nelly?"--Is Will talking of Nelly?

"Yes, sir,--Nelly."

----"What!--and you have told all this to Nelly--that you love her?"

"I have, sir."

"And she says"--

"That I must speak with you, sir."

"Bless my soul!--But she's a good girl;"--and the old man wipes his
eyes.

----"Nell!--are you there?"

And she comes,--blushing, lingering, yet smiling through it all.

----"And you could deceive your old father, Nell"--(very fondly.)

Nelly only clasps your hand in both of hers.

"And so you loved Will all the while?"

----Nelly only stoops to drop a little kiss of pleading on your
forehead.

----"Well, Nelly," (it is hard to speak roundly,) "give me your
hand;--here, Will,--take it:--she's a wild girl;--be kind to her, Will."

"God bless you, sir!"

And Nelly throws herself, sobbing, upon your bosom.

----"Not here,--not here now, Nell!--Will is yonder!"

----Sobbing, sobbing still! Nelly, Nelly,--who would have thought that
your merry face covered such a heart of tenderness!

III.

_Grief and Joy of Age._

The Winter has its piercing storms,--even as Autumn hath. Hoary age,
crowned with honor and with years, bears no immunity from suffering. It
is the common heritage of us all: if it come not in the spring or in the
summer of our day, it will surely find us in the autumn, or amid the
frosts of winter. It is the penalty humanity pays for pleasure; human
joys will have their balance. Nature never makes false weight. The east
wind is followed by a wind from the west; and every smile will have its
equivalent in a tear!

You have lived long and joyously with that dear one who has made your
life a holy pilgrimage. She has seemed to lead you into ways of
pleasantness, and has kindled in you--as the damps of the world came
near to extinguish them--those hopes and aspirations which rest not in
life, but soar to the realm of spirits.

You have sometimes shuddered with the thought of parting; you have
trembled even at the leave-taking of a year, or of months, and have
suffered bitterly as some danger threatened a parting forever. That
danger threatens now. Nor is it a sudden fear to startle you into a
paroxysm of dread: nothing of this