The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1850-03-20

VINO ndu tOlleQ IOr tnelf advantage III Ills
days of health and strength. But though
unable to pursue his manual labors, Philip
Morris soon made an effort to get abroad
in search Of mental occupation and social
enjoyment. He went to his club, to the
mechanics institute. to the cofee-shops
where he could find the best selected books
and the most newspapers. All this was
well done; he nobly determined to rescue
himself from becoming the mere machine
of toll, the drudge for SO much "trash as
can be grasped thus" Alas had he but
thought of her whom he had promised to
love and cherish till death should part
thenl--had he considered whether she had
not soul Of equal value with his own,
perhaps an intellect as capable of repay
ing culture-then had he been twice bless.
ed-blessed in the act and its reaction
But selfishly devoted to his own objects of
pursuit, habituated to the wan looks of his
quiet wife, he failed to perceive that her
cheek grew paler, and her voice weaker;
not that he had been insensible or indiffer-
ent to her care and anxiety during his i'll
ness; but with renovated health he return
ed to his old habits, and accustomed to re-
ceive sacrifices without making any, he
sinned against gratitude and good feeling
almost unconsciously. Gradually Susan
found herself unequal to even the daily
walk with little Philip, or the effort of going
up and down stairs, and there was some
talk of her returning home for time. and
trying the effects of her native air. She
smiled feebly as this was spoken of, yet
left uninterrupted; she knew that she was
going to further and better home, and
often did she wish to say as much; but she
was not eloquen. of words, nor sufficiently
strong in spirits, and after two or three
fruitless attempts she desisted, and pursu-
ed, as far as she was able, the even tenor
other way.
Philip Morris recovered his health, and
was restored to work and full wages; again
he talked Of the country for Susan, and in
sisted on her trying new doctor; he sought
10 tempt her appetite by such rarities as he
could afford, but still he could not resign
his own peculiar habits and enjoyments.
and among the evils these entailed were
late hours. One night he returned home,
as usual, about midnight, when on opening
the room door, instead of the small bright
fire, the trimmed candle, and the pale, pa
tient worker, he was accustomed TO behold,
all was darkness and silence. lie paused
moment-an indiscribable sensation oi
cold crept over his frame; and fear, like a
paralysis, invaded his heart AT length he
exclaimed, ''Susan, Susan, my DEAR
There was no reply; he stepped farther in
to the room; he repeated her name yet loud
er; all was still. He groped his way to the
fire place; on the mantel shelf he found a
box Of lucifer matches, obtained light and
lighted a candle lie now beheld Susan
with her hand resting on the table, seated
in her usual place. lie approached and
took her hand. 0 heavens! its icy cold.
ness! He flung himself on his knees on
the floor, and looked up into her face; there
was a sweet, placid smile upon the lips, fol
torgiving, gentle spirit had passed from
them, but the eyes were fixed and filmed
Susan was dead had been dead some
hours. The distracted man rushed down
stairs, alarmed all the inmates of the house
as he passed. medical man was soon pre-
sent, and the chamber in which that young
creature had lived and died alone, was
thronged by crowd, any one of whom
inspired by better social system, woulc
willingly have sustained her to a Longer
life, or cheered the brief time that had beer
allotted her. All were horror-struck, ant
one heart-struck; particularly when thu
child, awakened by the tumult, scrambled
out of his little bed, and rushed for protec
ton to his lifeless mother. Not even tha
voice. eloquent as it had ever been to her
could waken her again. The surgeon de-
clared that her death had been sudden
and from natural causes, but that it was 6
case which demanded an inquest.
An inquest was held. Among the evi
dence produced was singularly affectn,
memorial; it was little journal which Su
san had for sometime kept, like the poo
dungeon prisoner who daily notches {
stick that he may be able to number tn,
monotonous days of his captivity. Th'
angel of death had arrested her hand jus
as it had teebly traced the following words
at will not be long now, my child, m,
poor little Philip. He who calls ava,
your mother will care for you! Philil
Morris, my husband. my dear husband,
wish you we're beside me now. You hay
been good, and kind, and generous, and
was not the wife you should have had
Be kind father to our child when an
gone. You will-yes, surely, you will on
day take another wife. That which yo
never gave to me, give to her-your socie
ty, your counsel If she has been un
taught, teach her; atrleast do not leave he
J to continual loneliness. You never kne,
lit, and therefore cannot tell how sad tn
long dull hours s,l
AS the reading of this little paper pro
ceeded, Philip Morris struck his, heart a
II he sought TO crush IL within his hrea g