American Republican and Baltimore daily clipper. [volume] (Baltimore, Md.) 1844-1846, 1845-08-27
THE FAITH ESS WIFE;
OR, WOMAN NOT ALL EVIL.
a Tale Of Thrilling Interest.


The evening sun shown freely into the room
where Edward Murray sat by the bedside of his
dying child. Her sufferngs had been long and
severe, but now she slept calmly as an infant,
one hand clasped in her fathers, while her pale
cheek rested on the other, half hidden by the
long soft hair that foated over the pillow
E cd only could know the bitterness OF anguish
that wrung the fathers heart, as he looked up
on that beloved face and felt it would soon be
hidden from him forever. He was man Of re-
served manners and few knew the story of his
life. 1t was whispered that wife, whom he
once adored, and left him years before, was
Morse than dead, and it was well known that he
seemed to care for nothing in the wide world,
save the daughter over whose infancy and youth
he had watched with tenderness like mothers.
He had never left her even for a day; he had
renowned intercourse with friends and rela-
tons to live only for her; and now there lay his
idol, dying; he knew it, he felt it., and yet his
eyes were dry, and his lips did not tremble as
he murmured, slowly, "God bless her! she is
my all, she has been my good angel: God bless
herr
He rejoiced in her calm sleep, and yet he
onged for the time when she should wake and
speak to him, for he felt her delrium was past.
Oh how cruelty the wandering of her pure and
rows of her father! 1t was ever of her early
childhood that she spoke, of her first home she
remembered, of her long lost mother. Often
would she start from her pillow, exclaiming
that her mother was come, and mingling words
of welcome and endealment with reproaches
for having delayed her coming SO long. Little
had Mr.. Murray dreamed of the fondness with
which his Helen had chung to that name so
long unspoken; little reckoned he TILL then of
the deep and passionate affection that made
her unconscious tongue eloquent in addressing
the vision of her fancy. Hour by hour he sat
listening to her fond details of long past events;
how she sat with her mother in the shadow of
the old lime tree watching for him; and again
her Joyous laugh rang out as she told of his
coming, and of all he said as he casped them
both to his bosom; she told him she had knet
between them TO pray, and again she uttered
the very words of the fist simple prayer her
mother had taught her.
II was nearly sunset when Helen woke. Her
eyes rested long and sadly on her fathers alter
ed face; and, at last, drawing him towards her,
she laid her head on his bosom and wept silent
y.
'What ails you, darling?" he said; ''you are
better, surely"
Eyes, yes, | am better; but see it all. have
almost broken your heart"
mo, Helen, it is not you, dear child you
have been my comfort and my Joy, he exclain-
ed; "you are so still"
II have been delrious, know" said Helen,
land have spoken Of things that must have tor
tured you"
sit matters not, dear child. Do you think
day passes wherein do not think OF these
thingsi What else has made me what am
have been sad companion for you, Helen
but God knows have loved you well.''
1t was after long silence that Helen spoke
again.
LET me-" said she, "once, only once more
speak of her. day may come when, in bitter
sorrow, she may ask your forgiveness. Some
times think ofher-pale, dying, broken-heart-
ed-piaying you to say one kind word to her
before she died. Oh, father! dearest father! if
that time should ever come, promise for the
sake of your child, who will then be in her cold
grave, promise to forgive her!"
His voice was hoarse, but he replied calmly,
''Elclen! | have long since forgiven her! but
promise you by all hold most sacred, if ever
hear of her in trouble or sorrow, will do all
she has left me the power to do, to comfort and
relieve her."
''God blessyou for those words have pray
cd for her all my life, and now, in my death
my last thoughts are for you and for her.
Father, will you not pray with me?n
He knelt down and covered his face. while
his child, calling up all her dying strength,
poured forth iervent prayer for the erTing
wife-the lost mother. To Edward Murray
her voice was as that of an angel pleading for