CHAPTER XXI. The wounded Socialist. O sir, to wilful men, The injuries that they themselves procure SHAKSPEAKE,-King Lear. In a clean and quiet room of a pleasant farm-house, the windows of which looked into a neat garden, and admitted the refreshing fragrance of the rose and the jasmine, two females were engaged in attendance upon a sick man, who lay, with his head bandaged, apparently in a dying state. It was Charles Lever, who had been carried to the house of Farmer Franklin after the fatal rencontre with the soldiers. For many days, nay for weeks, he had been hovering between life and death; his body powerless and emaciated, his mind sometimes in a state of torpor, sometimes wandering and restless. One while a throbbing, burning pain would torture his fevered brow, and he would imagine he was struggling in some fierce conflict, in which he could make no progress, or grasping at some object which he could never reach; then the burning pain would subside, and he would fancy he heard sweet voices-his mother talking with him, as she was wont to talk in early childhood; then another gentle and kind voice would seem to speak, and that caused the blood again to flow more rapidly, and the throbbing to begin afresh. It was about three weeks after the fatal night of the insurrection, when Charles Lever at last began to recover his senses. A sharp pain had shot across his forehead, which was succeeded by a pleasant sensation of coolness. Charles slowly opened his eyes, and they fell on the beautiful face of Margaret Franklin, who had been binding up his wounded head, and was now smoothing his pillow. "Dear Margaret," said he, in a low and tremulous voice, "how kind it is of you thus to watch over me! I have often fancied that I heard your voice, and was not sure whether it was a dream or a reality; but now I see that it is you indeed." "O how glad I am to hear you talk like yourself," said Margaret in delight; " and how glad your mother will be! But, hush! you must not speak: Dr. Chambers said, that if you recovered your speech, you must on no account be permitted to talk, or to exert yourself in any way." So saying Margaret hastened from the room, with the joyful intelligence that Charles had at length come to himself. Mrs. Lever immediately entered with a glad countenance, and took her son's hand and pressed it to her lips, and wept over it; begging, at the same time, that he would keep quite still. From that time Charles continued to amend. Margaret seldom entered the room, but her light step was often heard in the adjoining apartment. His mother was constant in her attendance upon her son; and as his mind became able to bear it, she answered his anxious inquiries respecting the events which had taken place since the time of his being wounded. The principal of his associates had suffered for their offence on the scaffold, or had been transported; others had escaped and left the country. Inquiry had been made for him, and his retreat discovered; but his friend George Franklin having represented his almost hopeless condition, and, in a private conference with the magistrate, having stated that he owed his own life to Charles's interference, no warrant had been issued out against him; and it was understood that his part in the affair would be passed over. Relieved as Charles's mind was in some degree by this intelligence, other and more serious thoughts began to crowd upon him. Adversity is a stern teacher; sickness and the fear of death are eloquent admonitors. As he lay in his bed, fearful of a relapse, without power of limb or muscle, bitter reflections forced themselves upon him. He thought on his sinful life, his abject condition, his escape-and that not even certain-from an ignominious death, which had been the fate of some of his companions. He could not but feel that he also deserved the same punishment; and though he might be spared from the condemnation of a human judge, was there not One before whom he must one day appear to give an account of his works? The words of the preacher, the solemn declaration of God's word, " Verily there is a reward for the righteous, doubtless there is a God which judgeth the earth," — which even before had sunk into his heart, now presented themselves to his mind with redoubled force. How soon might he be called on to stand before his God! He had never been a decided infidel, though a sceptic; and now his flimsy arguments and reasons were scattered before the tribunal even of common sense. He felt his enormous sin and danger, and he prayed; he prayed as he had been wont to do, when a child before his mother's knees, and God heard his prayers. It may be supposed that his mother perceived with delight the favourable change which had come over his thoughts; and to the extent of her abilities she administered to his instruction. But her efforts were now assisted by a third person. Mr. Morton had many times called to inquire after the wounded sufferer; and was now gratified to hear that his mind was sufficiently restored to admit of a visit from him, and that he was, indeed, most anxious to see him. The minister of the Church approached the bedside of the sick man, and kindly inquired after his health. 66 Alas, sir, my life hangs but by a thread; though God has mercifully spared me as yet, and I am something recovered, yet, weak and powerless as I am, I feel I may relapse and go off in a moment. All I pray is, that God may allow me time to repent." Mr. Morton was delighted to find his patient in this frame of mind-a -aware of his danger, and anxious to seek God. "I see, my poor friend," said he, "that affliction has had the effect which a merciful God designs it should have, of bringing home the thoughts to Him. I pray God that He will finish the good work which He has begun in you." "Oh, sir," said the sick man, I fear you know not the deep guiltiness of him whom you look on, or you would not speak thus encouragingly. I have led a life of presumptuous sin; I have scoffed at religion, and even denied or doubted the existence of a God. But I now feel," said he, shuddering, "that there is a God who rules above, and that I shall have to give Him an account of my works. I can no longer doubt it, if I would; the terrors of the judgment even now hang over me; the pains of hell seem to have begun on earth;" and as he spoke, large drops of sweat started on his brow, while his flushed cheek and quivering eye shewed the intensity of his sufferings. “Oh, sir, save me from these horrible thoughts!" 66 Mr. Morton, though not unused to scenes like this, was deeply moved by Lever's agony of spirit, and inwardly prayed that God would aid his words. My poor sufferer," said he, "the same holy Scripture which tells us of God and of a judgment to come, tells us also of One who hath shed His blood to save us." 66 Ah, sir," said the sick man eagerly, "if I could |