it must be the thirty-seventh Psalm. If you live
to my age, Walter, you have yet a long journey before
you, and when the troubles of life disturb your mind—as
doubtless they often will—when trials beset
you and the way looks dark, remember that old Grandma
Adams told you to turn to this Psalm; read it carefully,
and you will be sure to find something which will cheer
and support you.” I looked with a feeling
of deep veneration upon my aged relative, indeed I
could not have helped it, as she sat in her arm-chair,
with her mild and pleasant countenance, her hair of
silvery whiteness smoothly parted beneath the widow’s
cap, and as I listened to the words of pious hope
and trust which fell from her lips, I felt that I had
never before sufficiently valued her counsels and advice,
and I resolved that for the future I would endeavour
to be doubly attentive and respectful to this aged
and feeble relative, who was evidently drawing near
the close of her life-journey.
Time, with his noiseless step, glided on, till but
a few weeks remained before the school would break
up for the midsummer vacation. Happy as I was
at Uncle Nathan’s, I looked eagerly forward to
the holidays, for I was then to pay a visit of several
weeks to my home at Elmwood, having been absent nearly
a year, and, as this time drew nigh, every day seemed
like a week till I could set out on the journey.
Added to the joy of again meeting my mother and sister,
I would also meet Charley Gray, who was also to spend
his vacation at home. We had kept up a regular
correspondence during the past year. I could always
judge of Charley’s mood by the tone of his letters.
Sometimes he would write a long and interesting letter,
in such a glowing, playful style, that I would read
it over half-a-dozen times at the least, and perhaps
his very next letter would be just the reverse, short,
cold and desponding. Any one who knew Charley
as I did could easily tell the state of mind he was
in when he wrote, but so well did I know the unhappy
moods to which he was subject, that a desponding letter
now and then gave me no surprise. In fact, had
the style of his letters been uniformly gay and lively,
I should have been more surprised, so well did I understand
his variable temper. But we both looked forward
to our anticipated meeting with all the eagerness
and impatience of youthful expectation. For, as
I said near the opening of my story, I loved Charley
as a brother, and so agreeable and pleasant was his
disposition when he was pleased, you quite forgot
for the time being the unhappy tempers to which he
was subject.
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