Ypsilanti sentinel. [volume] (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw Co., Mich.) 1843-1900, 1845-09-17

" HON his heart had once delighted. His frame
shook with the violence Of his emotion, that
young voice, strong in the energy of faith and
love, breathed its last prayer, uniting once more
names that had long been sundered, and asking
blessings Oh both. Helen's prayer was done; her
spirit fingered while and then fled forever. Al
midnight, when the servants ventured to enter the
room. the father still held the fair young head on
his bosom; but he knew she was dead, and. alter
he had laid her tenderIy on the pillow, and kissed
her cheek, he suffered them to lead him away
without murmur
HIS was a grief of which The world could know
nothing. None heard him complain, none saw
him weep; and yet there was that IN his face, be.
traying more grefihan tears words Could have
expressed. He did all that he was asked to do !;
but it seemed that, if left alone, he would have
unused on forever unconscious of all that passed
around hum. He did not see the dead again !; bu:
he followed her to the grave, and returned with a
firm step to his solitary home.
week-iOO-three weeks passed away, and
still Mr.. hurry remained in the stupor of un-
spoken grit with which he had seen his last EARTH
y hope fade from his arms forever. He had no
friends. and his servants who had all loved poor
Helen, though they pitied him, dared moi speak OF
comfort. Once the nurse, who had tended Ellen
from her birth, came 10 beg he would rouse him.
sell. but when he raised his calm. hopeless eyes,
the words died OIL her lips and she felt 1t could be
but mockery to speak common phrases of consO-
ation to ore on whom had fallen the weight Of a
sorrow like tLis.
I II CHANGED one evening, i: might be month af-
ter his chd's death, as he paced the large chamber
which had been her favoriie sitting room his eye
fell on her desk. He started, and turned hastily
away but returning svon to the table on which 1t
Stood, began 10 examine its Contents. The first
thing ne touched was paper covered with her
own delicate hand writing He remembered the
day she had sat there, even where he stood now,
and he had observed that she was writing uncon.
sc,ousy while she cOnversed with him. Her own
name and bis we're traced again and again on that
paper. and he pressed passionatey 10 his Ips.-
He had found copy of unfinished verses, sweet
and full OF promise, breathing the fresh purity of
her gifted, We, but half-deveoped mind. Then
there was some slight sketches made in the previ-
Gus summer, and among them an attempted like
ness oil himself. lie recollected the day she babe
him SIT Tor his picture how wit aud genius, or
what seemed such to him, flowed from her tongue
and lighted her smile. He could not bear to look
at 1t, but turned over few papers that remained
IN the desk, When be lifted the last he found be
Meath 1t a small agate box, the irst gift he had
ever offered 10 his wife, and given by her as he
now Clearly remembered 10 Helen when she was
little child, He opened it, and within il was a
long ringle. of dark hair. He knew whose hair
1t Was; his heart grew young again, as he looked
upon 1t, and again his fair wife and rosy chic
seemed near to him, as they were when tina
! ringlet was given to Ellen by her young ant
happy mother. For moment he forgot wha
bad since happened, and then he glanced arouno
the solitary room and shuddered at its dreary
silence. Then came back to him the dying
words OF his only child, and the solemn promise
ne had made her. and once again his life had al
object. He would seek GU. the wife who had for
saken hun, tell her of that angels prayer. anc
speak words OF forgivness to her before he died.
| But the momentary excitement passed away
aud LETT him sunk in stupor We; sadder than be-
tore. lime passed on, winter gave place to spring
but the change of season brought no gladness t,
him. His spirit seemed forever crushed. and hi
dull and silent life flowed like sluggish stream
4 on which sunshine never fell. Ellen died in tn,
early wInteF,It was now late in The spring. Ed
ward Murry was alone, musiDg in the long, din
twilight that closed the day bright and lovely 4
all but hum, when form yelled and poorly clad
stood beoIe him, he knew her at once, it was hi
long lost wife, and many time before his las
grief fell upon him had he dreamed of meeting a
gain that beloved Que till hot tears fell fas
from bis eyes! how many time had he turne
pale and trembled when he discovered in som
stranger fancied resemblance TO her There wa
time when such meeting as this would hav
stirred the passions of his soul, but now it SCENE
scarcely even to surprise him. His dull gaz
was unaltered as he looked on the face once s.
beautiful, but now alas. how fearfuily changed!
aiO-go, Adelaide he said, at last, waving hi
hand-'vou are too late now she is dead
The sound of his voice appeared to re-assur
her, and she answered calmly as he had spoken.
4 know you are desolate, and she is gone, else
hardly dared to come. could not have borne t
see my child
'DesoIate, ADELAIDE utterly desolatep interup,e
he: you said the truth. She was my only Joy
she had never deceived me /; no blight had IalIe
on her pure heart, though there were not tbos
who could recall The mothers sin to cast sham
on the daughter
Fireworks stung the listener to the soul, but sh
replied
! Surely it was little that such as could injur
herr
You forget Adela, all that mother should b.
and you are not. God help those who have {