The Columbia Democrat. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1837-1850, 1844-08-03


whore can see you no more--never
more hear the tones Of your dear voice.
Oh, it will break my heart'' was the
lmost insrliculate reply.
"My poor Ellen, this is hard trial
or you, but you are too young 10 grieve
'lways. The thought is torture 10 me,
out--even you may love sgain--msy
wed snotherW and his voice was nearly
stilied with painful emotions.
"Never, never! Oh Henry, how
can yol harrow my soul at this awful
moment with such supposilion? Wed
another Give the wreck Of my buri-
ed affections TO another Oh no, no
he thought would kill me-"
81 doubt not you think so now, love i
but time works strange changes in this
world of ours. We know not what we
may do. | wish to exact no promise
from you. The thought is bitterly pain
fol 10 me, but should your present views
change, do moi wish that the reproach
ola broken promise should mar your
peace of mind"
"Henry, hear me-" said Ellen, in a
solemn tone. Should | ever SO far ioi
get my faith to your ashes as 10 lend my
ear to The language Of love, my heart to
he voice of affection for another, may
your form on my bridal evening come
to me and Ieproach me for my faIthleSs
ness"
A bright smile passed over the face
of The dying man. He murmured-
" Repeat those words again, my FL.
en- they take from death lis stIog,-
IN Heaven you will be all my own.-
Forgive my se6shness, dearest; bu,
nave so loved you, cannot think that
another shall win"-
His voice ceased to arliculate, and a
gain the deep tones OF the young mourn
er thrilled the air with The repetition o
hose awful words. AS they passed heI
/ lips, she felt the hand that "clssped her
eIax its grasp--a faint flullerlng con
hflssn niReisfi6res, and in another instant the,
wore The calm and passionless repose o
death.
! Ellen Sinclair buried herself in th'
seclusion of her own abode. "A cal0
and gentle melancholy succeeded tn
! st violence Of her grlef,bu she belray
ed no desire 10 mingle with The world
! Clad in the deepest mourning, she wa
] ,een no where but at church; aud hos
who looked on her felt deep sympathy
|lor one so young and SO bitterly bereaV
\ ed. Vainly bad her own parents songh
Ito draw her from her solitude. Tw'
4 wears passed, and after many trul,les
efforts they at length succeeded in ot
d tanning promise of viS, from her
/ he annual re-ucion of their family a
l. |Christmas, for that season is still heI
{ as festival in many parts OF V'rg
5 nia.
Al Ellen was once more beneath the roc
= of her father, and many and paniI
: were The emotions which struggled |
diner bosom when she looked around an
n Remembered that the last time she sioo
E beside her native hearth, she was ga
/. and happy bride.
O Those who looked on her could nc
Iavoid remarking the change which tw
E years had wrought in her appearance =
d The girl just b udding into maturity ha
d exDanded into the beautiful and sci
! possessed woman, with quiet grace
!. manner, and an air Of penslve reserv
e which was extremely captivating.
}. Her parents were worldly mnde
k oeople, who could not bear that theI
!, daughter should pass her life in the 50
-Iitude to which she had doomed hersel
h Tbey surrounded her with agreeabl
e company, sought TO amuse her mInt an
/. draw il from the contemplation OF IN
.e terrible calamity which had desroye
Al her dawning hopes Of happiness, an
v they succeeded sufficiently 10 implant
= her mind a dislaste 10 the idea oil IetuI
N iug to her late abode.
hi Week after week passed untillmonll
we're numbered, and she began 10 thin
r. it her duty to remain with her parent
r. She was their youngest child, and tt
As only one without ties which severe
a. them in measure from the parent
roof.
" "Ellen, my darling" said her falh'
when she sioke of returning hon
d YOU will not again forsske US? "
RS are old, and you are The only child wi
u. liz free TO remain with uS. You mu
oilive here-I cannot think of permiltir
L