As soon, therefore, as her health would permit, she started for Oakland, taking the precaution to procure from the clergyman who had married her a letter confirming the fact. Wretched and weary, she reached her home at the dusk of evening, and with a bitter cry fell fainting in the arms of her mother, who, having heard regularly from her, never dreamed that she was elsewhere than in the employ of Mrs. Warren. With streaming eyes and trembling hands the old man and his wife made ready the spare room for the wanderer, more than once blessing the fearful storm which, for a time at least, would keep away the prying eyes of those who, they feared, would hardly credit their daughter's story. And their fears were right; for many of those who visited them on the night of which we have spoken, disbelieved the tale, mentally pronouncing the clergyman's letter a forgery, got up by Helena to deceive her parents. Consequently, of the few who from time to time came to the old farm-house, nearly all were actuated by motives of curiosity rather than by feelings of pity for the young girl-mother, who, though feeling their neglect, scarcely heeded it. Strong in the knowledge of her own innocence, she lay, day after day, watching and waiting for one who never came. But at last, as days glided into weeks, and weeks into months, hope died away; and turning wearily upon her pillow, she prayed that she might die; and when the days grew bright and gladsome in the warm spring sun, when the snow was melted from off the mountain-tops and the first robin's note was heard by the farm-house door, Helena laid her baby on her mother's bosom, and without a murmur glided down the dark, broad river, whose deep waters moved onward and onward, but never return. When it was known in Oakland that Helena was dead, there came a reaction, and those who had been loudest in their condemnation were now the first to hasten forward with offers of kindness and words of sympathy. But neither tears nor regrets could recall to life the fair young girl, who, wondrously beautiful even in death, slept calmly in her narrow coffin, a smile of sadness wreathing her lips as if her last prayer had been for one who had robbed her thus early of happiness and life. In the bright green valley at the foot of the mountain they buried her, and the old father, as he saw the damp earth fall upon her grave, asked that he, too, might die. But his wife, younger by several years, prayed to live-live that she might protect and care for the little orphan, who, first by its young mother's tears, and again by the waters of the baptismal fountain, was christened Helena Rivers - the 'Lena of our story. · Lena Rivers. OLMES, OLIVER WENDELL., an American poet, essayist and novelist; born at Cambridge, Mass., August 29, 1809; died at Boston, Mass., October 8, 1894. He was educated at Phillips Academy, Andover, and at Harvard University, where he was graduated in 1829. He then began the study of law, which he abandoned at the end of a year for medicine. After several years of study in Boston and in Paris, he received his degree of M.D. in 1836. In this year he published his first volume of Poems. While a student he had contributed to the Collegian, published at Harvard. About 1838 it was proposed by the Government to break up the old battle-ship Constitution, no longer sea-worthy. The indignation of Holmes found vent in his poem Old Ironsides, the popular name of the vessel. This lyric, appealing to the patriotism of the whole country, gave its author a reputation, sustained by other poems in his first volume. In 1836 and 1837 he gained three out of the four medals for the "Boylston Prize Dissertations." These essays were published together in 1838, in which |