The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1845-09-20

though, IN the eyes oil the world their leaves might
cast a kingiy shadow upo n his own browi A spir-
| it OF proud independence took possession of him
| and he resolved that he would enjoy no wealth
which his own hands had not earned, no station
which he had not attained by his own exertions.
He determined to leave his friends, and seek his
own way through the world. and his Imagination
painted in glowing colors the triumph with which
he would, at no distant period, return to the home
of his childhood laden with wealth, and crowned
with honors which he had won. without the aid Of
friends, or fortune. The first glow Of anger to-
wards his brother had passed away, and he now felt
only desire tot prove TO him that he had judged
him falsely, and to show him the fruits Of that en-
ergy of which he had pronounced him destitute.
In his present excited state of feeIing this seemed
to him an aim Of greater value than to seek the
applause of the whole world beside. He thought
Of his mother, but the thought only served 10 wea-
ken his resolution, and he banshed her from his
mind And Marion, too, the joyous girl who had
been the companion of his infancy, the playmate
ofhis childhood, the sharer Of his joys and sorrows
thus far on the path OF life; she was not forgotten
in the plans which he now formed for the future,
and upon Which he was about to act She had
been the first object in all the aims Of his boyhood
the chief one whose smile was to be sought or
whose happiness regarded; and it was not natural
he should forget her now. He felt that the loss Of
her presence-her happy smile, and gentle voice
of approval would be far more TO him than aught
else which he should leave behnd but he conso-
ed himself with the thought that he should return
to her, with the proud consciousness that he had
achieved something which would render him wor-
thy Of her affection. 1t was In the midst Of these
reflections that the true nature with which h e re-
garded her, was Tor the first time revealed Before,
she had been to him but as sister, cherished and
well beloved; but he now saw, as he contempa-
ted long years Of ABSENCE that he could in no wise
consent that she should bestow upon any other, the
regard that he had always claimed from her 'sa
Marion Wells was the orphan child Of one for
whom, in the days OF her childhood, Mrs Wal.
worth had entertained romantic friendship;-
who had been left widow, few months after
marriage; and who, on her death bed, had com
mitted hernfant daughter 10 the care of her only
friend. She had beer. reared in the family, with
the utmost tenderness, and had been regarded as
daughter, and sister, by Mrs Walworth and her
sons f"t a'
1t was night, and Arthur WaIworth stood in his
apartment, looking out for the last time upon the
river, the hills, and the woods, which he had first
learned to love, and in the mould of which his
spirit had in no slight degree been cast The qui-
ct moonlight stole through the parted curtains and
slept upon the floor like white dove, amid the
deep green Of the forest All was repose around
him. The family had long been buried in the arms
of slumber. But no! they were not all sleeping;
even row there came astep across the hall, and
paused before his door. 'f 70 F. F."
1t was Henry, who had returned from his hun.
ting excursion. His mind had been but i'll at ease
sincehe left; for he remembered his unkind words,
and well knew how sensitive was Arthur's nature.
He had only been prevented from returning ere
he had nearly reached the woods, by that spirit
which makes it SO difficult for us TO confess that
we have been in the wrong He laid his hand up.
on the lock of Arthurs door, and hesitated: "He's
sleeping now" thought he. sand if I wake him |
shall have no excuse forit, but that came to ask
his forgiveness. 1t would seem ridiculous Very
like he has never thought of it since. had better
allude 10 it incidentally, if at ALL Well never mind,
III treathm very kindly IN the morning, and if he
seems to have been wounded, Twill tell him, I re-
gret what said;" and he turned away 1t was his
evil genius that prompted the decision. He had
not thought how lovely thing Is the exhibition OF
that regard for the feelings Of others, that socude
which he really felt, and did not dream that ere
another morning dawned his brother would be for
ever. beyond the reach Of his kindness. Arthur
supposing il to be some servant who had been out
late, only listened till the sound of his step had
died away, and then moving towards table he
took letter which he had addressed to Marion,
and in which he had given her his reasons for lea
wing home, declared all his hopes and aspirations
for the future, his undying attachment to herself,
and told her that she would hear from him no more
till he returned having proved himself worthy to
he left on the table, speaking only of burning
desire TO distinguish himself in the word and say
ing that she would see him no more until this wish
was accomplished. He opened door leading into
a aside passage, fronting the garden, and proceed
ing across this to opposite door, thrust his head
through the open window, undid the fastening and
the next moment stood within the sleeping apart
ment Of Marion Wells. a89 ass.fi jed. gai |
For some moments he gazed upon her as she |
slept The light Of the full moon streamed in upon
the curtains, and in one two places rested beside
her. One hand rested beneath her head, and the |
dark curs with which her small and fairy hike faco
was surrounded, swept over it, and parting at the
wrist upon the pillow, while the, other reposed
upon the white counterpane. Arthur stopped
down, and pressed his lips upon it. She started
At the touch but only turned her head upon the
pillow, and murmuring few words which he had
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