True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-03-15
q RAGAN, Editor and Proprietor.

his proud spirit, and he bit his lips until
the blood came.
At times Allan Everard was handsome.
There was a high, commanding brow,
shadOwcd by jetty locks, that spread them
selves in wavy lines-a full black eye, firm
and unshrinking as an eagle's-hand-
somcly arched eyebrows, whose very dig
nifty lent nobler aspect to the whole
countenance. When JOY CLEANED in the
eye, and the lip spoke gladness, there was
something in the enthusiasm Of the finely
sculptured features that won admiration,
not for the mere beauty, but spirituality
and intelligence. The features were not
less handsome now, but there was an indie
Enable something in the firm setting of the
lips together, that destroyed the half
wrought dream, and left dim remem-
brance of the forest oak, when the light
nings have shivered its branches, and the
warm sunshine comes only to reveal the
deeper desolation.
Presently he turned from the road side
into large lane, bordered by tall poplarS,
on whose heads seemed resting the Aeecy
clouds above, and in a few moments he
reached the garden gate. Oh how love-
ly the pure white cottage looked, half en-
powered by fragrant vines, where slept
alike, the butterfly and the humming-bird
where the south wind breathed melody,
and the rain came in gentle patters, as if
fearful of disturbing the blessed ones with
in. His hand trembled as he unfastened
the gate latch, and his ear vainly listened
for some sound to break upon the oppres-
sive stiffness, There were no merry vol
ces of childhood-no ringing laugh-no
sweet song mingled with harp-strings, to
wake an echo in his breast-no wife or
child bade him welcome home.
Home there is home in the hearts Of
beloved ones, and bright eyes watch for us
speaking strange language, in mute but
eloquent tones, that none but ourselves
may read; there is a home on the deep
blue sea for the sailor, and the sparkling
waves smile answeringly to his fearless
greeting: there are tones Of love for the
weary laborer, when the days toll is over;
and though the fare be poor and scanty,
there are sweet smiles and kind words to
buoy up his heart for the coming morrow
there is joyous hum to greet the honey.
laden bee at night-fall: there are soft rust.
lings for the bird, and silver murmurs fol
the brook all have their welcome. But
oh how dreary to reach the spot called
home, and find no answering tones-nc
eyes rejecting our own emotions-no vol.
ces to fall upon our ear in the rich tones
of unasked sympathy but sit down by the
fresidc, and gaze in the vacant chair, feel
ing lonelincss-utter solitude-and thi'
was Allan Everard's s welcome.
There was time when his wife woulc
have been listening for his football, ant
sprang tomeot him. Where was she now
dead? If the noiseless King of th'
shadowy realm had sent forth his mandate
summoning her to that, and "where ther,
is no sorrow, nor any crying, and all tear
are wiped away" Allan Everard coult
have folded the lilly hands across her pur,
breast, kissed her cold brow, and laid he
down to her dreamless rest, with hope,
blessed hope of reunion in that fair lanc
of bliss that hope would have lighted "
his loneliness. But worse blight thai
death had fallen on Lucy Everard-th
pure wife Of his bosom the wife of al
his dreams was--faithless.
Slowly did the desolate man open tn
door and gaze furtively around, as if fear
full of discovering some forbidden occupant
but, save the child that lay sleeping on tn
floor, no human being but himself wa
: there. The sound of his footstep wok
} drearily in that silent roem, until he hal
started at the echo--and then the prou,
; man knelt beside his sleeping boy. /
was a scene that painter would hav
t joycd to look upon--that pure child in a
, its innocence and beauty, with its fore
, head scarcely less fair than the snowy pil
low it rested on, and partly shadowed b
. a profusion Of rich auburn curls, that fe
! lovingly around the transparent temples
7 where the blue and red veins interseCte
each other. The features had a feminin
Q softness, such as is often observed in youh
children but the mouth, in its sweet n
pose, was more like an opening roHe-bu
l in its first freshness, ere the leaves hay