CHAPTER I. THE RESCUE. AT half past three, P. M., the School Teacher informed me that I was at liberty to return home, as my mother had sent a request that I might be dismissed at that time. I knew that two of my cousins were expected at our house that afternoon, and surmised that was the reason why my presence was desired. The weather was exceedingly beautiful, and all nature looked so inviting that I could not find it in my heart to hasten home, even though my cousins were waiting for me. From my early childhood, I have felt such an absorbing love for those beautiful creations which are so manifestly God's, that at times it has been beyond the power of man, or the cares and conflicts of the world, to draw me from their communion, or break the spell which held me so lovingly in their soul-purifying embrace. I walked along, very leisurely, frequently stopping to examine the wings of a beautiful butterfly, or cull a sweet flower growing by the wayside. And when I came to a dark, swiftly-running stream, I looked into a deep hole, and saw beautiful fish, with tints bright as gold. How they darted when they saw me, so quickly that those bright spots seemed to emit a stream of light! My age was then fifteen, and it was not often that I enjoyed the luxury of walking home alone; and when I did, I improved the time well. I examined everything that pleased me, and went through a course, of reasoning, in my own mind, in relation to them. I queried if the butterfly was not made to teach man of a higher and better life than this. The worm that crawls upon the earth, I thought, might represent man in his present state; the butterfly that floats on zephyrs with golden wings, his immortal and glorious state. The worm weaves its own winding-sheet, and, in due time, the cerements are thrown off or burst asunder, but the worm is not there. A bright and beautiful creature springs forth, sailing away as on the wings of light. Now, its sphere may be termed spiritual, for it is a renewed and higher state. It no longer grovels in the dust, but soars in the air like a bird, visiting, at its will, green fields and delightful gardens, and when weary, finding a fitting resting-place in the soft bosom of a flower. Man's state, in some respects, is not dissimilar; too often vicious and degraded, he plods on his way, burdened with sin and disease, so that he despises himself when ever he looks within, and sees the dark spots upon his own soul. But the time comes when he goes through a change analogous to that of the worm. The body is cast off, and forth, clothed with glory the inner life, the spirit, comes and beauty, and, like the butterfly that shakes its bright wings close to the crawling worm, unperceived by it, so the spirits of the departed are ever near us, though we perceive them not. Floating on wings of ethereal brightness, they comfort with happy thoughts and bless with hopeful aspirations those they love. While such reflections were passing through my mind, I thought of my father, who had been dead six years, and of my little brother, the youngest of the family, who had died two years after. I wondered if they were as much exalted above their former sphere as the butterfly, and whether they were not hovering near me, their wings flashing in golden light! When a soft breath of air fanned my hot cheeks, I half fancied that it was caused by the sweep of their beautiful wings. The fancy did not startle me in the least; but I wished they might be ever near, to watch over, bless and guard me. I do not believe that the idea of spirits returning to earth, or hovering ever near the creatures of their love, is naturally frightful to children; but it is made so by fearful stories of ghosts and goblins, some with skeleton heads, and others with the red blood gushing from ghastly wounds. These horrid creatures ever come on dark, dreary nights, |