The Judge upon his bench
deals out the dreaded justice to the scourged, and has no look of
gentleness. But breathe this word into his ear, his thoughts fly to his
fireside; his heart relents; he is no longer Justice, but weak and
tender Mercy.
What makes that small, unopened missive so precious to that great rough
man? Why, 'tis from Home--from Home, that spot to which his heart is
tied with unseen cords and tendrils tighter than the muscles which hold
it in his swelling chest. Perhaps he left his Home caring little for it
at the time. Perhaps harsh necessity drove him from its tender roof to
lie beneath
THE THATCH OF AVARICE.
It does not matter. As the great river broadens in the Spring, so do his
feelings swell and overflow his nature now. Why does he tremble,--that
rough, weather-beaten man? Because there is but one place on the great
earth where "an eye will mark his coming and grow brighter." If that
beacon still burns for him, he can continue his voyage. If it has
gone out, if anything has happened to it, his way is dark; nothing
but the abiding hand of the Great Father can steady his helm and hold
him to his desolate course.
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