The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1850-10-31

heart. But Ellen's heart and temper were
if not spoiled by self-indulgence, soured
and disturbed. She drew back coldly,
and with an angry gesture, which repelled
all the warm feelings that were ebbing
from the heart of the husband, petulently
replied:
81 can't help it, you know can't work,
don't know how; besides am sure it is
enough for one 10 do to take care of baby;
and as for dressing less, you can do as
you please. but | don't intend TO appear
more meanly clad than al present. Come
I'm IN hurry, viii you give me the
money"
"Yes, ] will give il to you,'' replied he
i'll deep cultural tone of voice, which al
most startled the insensible wife; and any
one who had observed his countenance az
he opened his purse, might have seen that
something unusual was at work at his
heart. "i'll pay you Uhat owe you."
and he counted out the fifteen dollars and
placed them in her hand. as that all
owe you?" and his voice grated strangely
as he asked the question.
That is ALL" replied she carelessly,
and dOnning her bonnet she left him with
the same cold unconcern that had always
fallen like ice upon the warm impulsive
feelings of her husband.
She had no sooner left the apartment,
than he caught his child to his bosom, ard
pressing her soft downy cheek TO his, burst
into tears--a torrent of unchecked tears
which came from an agOnizcd heart. He
had hoped--hoped beyond reason, to soften
the heart of the being he called his wife 10
wake her TO a sense Of duty that they might
yet be happy. But now all hope was lost,
his last and boldest effort was repulsed,
she had turned away callous and unsoit-
ened from an appeal that might have touch
ed savage heart. He had done all in
his power to do, and as hope went out in
his heart, a firm and settled resolution,
newborn purpose rose up and precluded
despair.
.'She has 10 friends to support her,
said he, casting his eyes around the apart
ment which was richly furnished by him
self, ''a poor orphan brought her here,
and no more than such shall leave her.
Her uncle, who reared her in charity, is
dead, and she will be obliged TO earn her
bread-a severe lesson, bat a necessary
one; she must yet learn to help herself,
or she can never be what | hoped TO find
her. 80 saying, he left the child in the
care of a little girl and went out.
1t might have been two hours after the
aforementioned occurrences took place,
that cab drove up before the door of the
house in which Sheldon and his wife
boarded, and a moment after he stepped
out, bringing a large travelling trunk,
which, with the aid of the coachman, was
placed on the top of the carriage. He then
went back TO his room, and Immediately
returned, bearing his little daughter in his
arms, neatly dressed in a little hood and
pelisse, and prattling in high gIee at the
prospect OF ride. A moment more The
door closed, the carriage wheels ratified
over the pavement, and Sheldon had left
his wife and home, that which he had so
eagerly sought, and deemed as the highest
felicity of life-perhaps forever But his
child was in his arms, or on his heart, and
though the burning tears rushed 10 his
eyes, he was still half happy in the inno-
cent caresses of his beautiful and ldolized
child.