army doctors might be sent without a moment's delay, and with a beating heart she waited the return of the messenger. Mrs. Stanley saw with agony the ravages which fever was hourly making upon the frame of her beloved husband, and she exerted all her energies to avert the dreadful blow which threatened her. She had a painful task to perform-that of communicating to her affectionate children the alarming situation of their father. The little boy was too young to realize the evil she feared, but the two little girls possessed judgment and discretion beyond their years. Mrs. Stanley had been peculiarly situated ever since her marriage. When she settled on Lake Champlain, she beheld herself entirely separated from every member of her own family; one dear and almost idolized brother, and two sisters, were all that death had spared of a numerous family, and their lot was cast in a distant part of the state. Her husband's practice called him much from home, and as her own habits were domestic and retired, she found herself much alone. She was a devoted mother, and from the first dawnings of reason her daughters had been her companions. She had entered into all their infantile sports, listened to all their little griefs, and identified herself as much as possible with them; of course she won their confidence, and they grew up as her companions and friends. These two lovely children, the one eight, the other six years old, assumed a responsibility (for it was self-imposed) that few young ladies of twenty feel toward a feeble mother. They felt that her happiness was in their keeping. With a constitution so fragile, that it seemed as if one rude blast of adversity would annihilate her, she had been the victim of sorrow from her childhood. It was theirs to soothe and console; if the tear trembled in her eye, Anna would sing one of her sweetest songs; if her brow was clouded with care, Louisa had a pretty story to read. Thus hand in hand, these two lovely, almost angelic little beings, watched over their almost idolizing mother. It would have warmed the heart of a stoic to have witnessed the pure, simple, yet childlike expedients they resorted to, in order to enliven the domestic hearth. They were too young to analyze their motives; they only knew she was their dear, their honoured mother, who looked to them for happiness; she must not look in vain. It was to these intellectual, almost ethereal little beings, that Mrs. Stanley was about to communicate the most mournful tidings of their father's illness. I will not attempt to describe the scene that ensued. At first their grief knew no bounds, but when told that she looked to them for consolation in this hour of trial, Anna, smiling through her tears, threw herself into her mother's arms, saying, "dear mamma, you shall not be disappointed in us; if we lose papa, we must all love each other the more;" while Louisa sat immovable as a statue, her hands folded across her little heart, and her full dark eye fixed on vacancy. "Louisa, my darling," said the agonized mother, "speak to me, dearest; have you no word—no comfort for mamma?" The little creature's deep convulsive sobs spoke the anguish of her heart. "Luly, dearest Luly-speak to mamma-be calm, my love." "I am, I will be calm;" and she looked so piteously in her mother's face, while little Anna was constantly soothing and caressing her. "And "Oh! Anna, must papa die?” she at last articulated. mamma will be a widow then, and shall not we be orphans? does not that mean orphans, to lose our papa?" "Yes, dear sister," sobbed Anna, "we shall be almost orphans, we shall have mamma." "Oh Anna, it is dreadful!" and again she sobbed almost convulsively. The strong, deep feelings of the younger child almost suffocated her, while the not less sensitive, but more buoyant spirits of Anna rebounded. Although a babe in years, she seemed at once endowed with the discretion of a woman. The peculiar circumstances in which they were placed, drew forth traits of character which surprised and gladdened the heart of the mourning mother. Every plan Anna could devise, to amuse her little brother and sister, she practised. She unpacked their little books, played school, instituted herself their teacher, and kept good order, that her mother might be relieved from the task of amusing them. Mrs. Stanley's patience was sorely tried before her messenger returned; at last he came, but no success. There was no doctor in the town, and no one was permitted to leave camp; and this afflicted lady must be guided in this dreadful strait by her own weak judgment. The delirium of Dr. Stanley continued for several hours-when a deathlike stupor succeeded, attended by an inflammation upon the bowels, which it was feared would end in mortification. Many of the most respectable inhabitants of Plattsburgh had sought refuge in this little hamlet, and it was some consolation to see familiar faces, and to know that many of her dear neighbours were near; yet every family had its own cares. CHAPTER VIII. THE chain of intelligence was kept up between Plattsburgh and Peru. Couriers were constantly riding back and forth with correct information. From the sixth until the eleventh, (the morning of the battle,) there was occasional skirmishing between the advance guards of the enemy and the Vermont volunteers, and New York militia. As is usually the case on such occasions, false alarms, and false reports were circulated by mischievous idlers who enjoyed the panic, riding furiously back and forth spreading terror all around, by rumors of farm houses burnt to ashes, and whole families massacred by the Indians, who were let loose to do their pleasure upon the peaceable inhabitants. These reports annoyed Mrs. Stanley, by creating alarm in the minds of those with whom she was associated. She knew herself, that there was no credit to be given them, and that the courier would soon arrive with the truth. Night and day she watched by the couch of her suffering husband. Every prescription was made by herself; her medical friend merely acquiescing in her views, and ending all his remarks by wishing they had able counsel. Mrs. Stanley trembled as the conviction forced itself upon her mind, that every thing rested upon her own judgment; a sacred solemnity pervaded her naturally cheerful mind; she had high and holy duties to perform. Her husband's life depended upon her judi cious management; an indiscretion on her part, which might arise from want of medical knowledge, would deprive herself and children of their dearest earthly friend. She knew that all depended upon her own self-possession. When her feelings amounted almost to agony, then would she close the door of her own little private room, and cast her burdens upon Him who was able to sustain them. She knew in whom she trusted-she rested on the promises of her God. The exertions, both mental and physical, of this feeble woman were almost super-human. There were times when she felt herself sinking under the accumulated load of anxiety and fatigue. She saw her husband about to be torn from her for ever, at a time when his protection was necessary to their very existence as a family. Her mind reverted to that period, when a young and happy bride, she felt, that with him she could brave every extreme of danger and privation: to the hour, when a mother's love first filled her heart, and a parent's responsibilities were shared by the happy father. That father now lay before her unconscious of all her love, and all her woe. The lisping tones of his only son passed unheeded by him, and the tears of his idolized little daughters wet his face without recognition. "Oh speak to me, papa!" said the gentle Anna, as she threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed violently. The heart of Louisa seemed bursting with sorrow; as she passed her little hand across his unconscious brow, a cold shivering seized her. There was something awful, to the mind of this child, in the change which a few days had wrought in that loved visage! Nothing disturbed him now!-there he lay-senseless |