Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1845-1854, 1847-11-03
Her words were grateful t

AO4A 7 A41 ~ IAS
Willoughby. Her words were grateful to
his wounded spirit; not that he loved her
ah! no, an image yet smiled sweety from a
tablet Of his heart, seen through the mist of
tears it is true, but smiling still! Frances
was dear to him as ever, and when he
thought that perhaps they both were the
victims Of a mysterious conspiracy, and
remembering his own suffering, he imagin-
ed hers, she was dearer than ever. The
moments he at first passed in the society of
Amelia gradually stole away hours, until
relieved from the cares Of his responsible
office, he could only Escape from himseH
within the charmed circle OF Miss Wiileagh-
Eby 8 influence M vile had watched ms
with q iendish xnitation; thus sometimes,
do the Vaccinations of evil come to wear
the semblance of truth, and hence man
"whose feeble ray scarce spreads an inch
around'' contemplating single act, has
been led to doubt the wisdom and ultimate
designs of Providence.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
While the Judge and Amelia were the
ornaments of the brilliant circles in New
Orleans, "W oodland Height far away in
the north, presented scene strangely and
sadly different; it was but another page in
the book of life, picture of the thoughts
that sometimes struggled up in the bosom
of Charles too big and too bitter for utter
ance. 1t was the last of@October, fast
verging the twilight of the year. 1t was a
mourniul season, and right we'll was it at
tuned to the ft(ul sighings of the broken
heart.
In pleasant apartment of the old home
stead, before fire that gilded the hearth
with light and garnished the walls with
diorama of shadows, sat the father Of the
girl; she recllned on sofa near him, her
face half concealed by her hand. Her
eyes, could you have seen them, would
have seemed bluer than ever, and her voice,
always harp toned, now came as if from
her very heart. All! there was no decep-
ton there; innocence was shrined in that
beautiful temple of spirit, and the traces of
suffering upon that sweet face were so
mingled with resignation and hope, that
the garland alone was wanting to prepare
lamb for the sacrifice. She seemed as
she lay there, the embodiment Of a lovely
truth, enfeebled and almost slain by the err
ring hands or erring hearts OF its lovers.
Wounded and perishing, a physician and q
balm could only come from source whence
she was forbidden TO hope-those that had
pierced her ''in the house Of her friends"
The prescription Of her medical attendant
could avail her nothing; the face Of the old
man grew sad as he looked at her; it was
beyond his skill, deep seated in the s.heart
of hearts," Some frames are so exquisite
ly wrought, almost to the very verge of
materially, that the softest beat of the heart,
Is felt in every nerve and fibre of life's sill
YER telegraph. Too delicate for earth,
they are early translated to Heaven. There
are those all. muscle, composed altogether
of what they have eaien, whose very spirits
are corn-fed or steak.favoreo, who have
no conception Of delicate, intellectual Or
ganizatlon, and Us little desire to possess it.
They regard the world with an or like eye,
that lights up, only ut the prospect Of pas
turage or provender. Heaven help them,
if indeed Heaven has anything to do with
them!
| There are some women, and noble ones
too, that rise superior to every wrong, and
stand with true Marsus spirit, unbowed
amid the ruins of their hopes, but Frances
was not of them. Tearfully she sat in the
valley of sorrow, but clear, bright arch,
like rainbow, was Hope springing on the
darkest cloud Of her hearts prospect, and
she clung to its beautiful and baseles col,
umns, with the faith anu the love that can
be found no where this side the Blue, save
in the bosom of fond and coniding wo
man.
'Father," said she, ''this cannot be true;
Charles is too noble-too generous. There
is some dreadful mistake about it. l pray
you, lei me write him-only one line, just
one! | am very young to die, am l not,
Father!" and tear glittered down to the
carpet. There was pause; again she
spoke, and the tone was solemn and deep
like knell, "but cannet die with the doub
i in my soul. 'Father!'' and she slipped
: from the sofa upon her knees beside him
ssfather, it is dark, darker than the grave
let me know it all-the worst would be
better than this!'' and she bowed her head
upon his knee. The old man placed his
trembling hand upon her beautiful hair,ane
shook with strong emotion. Suddenly she
turned her face up towards his, and with
unwonted energy, exclaimed, II shall! |
is all lie. Charles loves me yet" Those
arms so soft and snowy were flung arounc
the neck of the old man, ''let me write hin
-'tis your Frances last prayer Father!'
He yielded ''my dear child, do as you
, will, and an old mans blessing be with you
} my poor stricken one''-and he hid his
t face and sobbed like a child. Frances
wrote him, and the son of Mammon with
) his heart of stone, must have been turned
} to signing at its perusal. Charles received
f it not, for Rexlord took it from the post Of
fee, read, and consigned it to the flames!
Five weeks from the touching interview
} we have attempted to describe, Melville
, sauntered into the "ofice' Of the ';St
: Charles" and carlessly turned over th'
S pages of the Register, in which the dali,
arrivals were recorded. Suddenly, hi
countenance underwent singular change
] anxiety, apprehension and incredulity seem
ed met together and struggling for the mas
c. .,.u How Al iGicnlt If is to hefipVe tha