Cooper's Clarksburg register. [volume] (Clarksburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1851-1861, 1855-03-07
From Arthur'S Home Magazine.
BITTER ANI3 SWEET.


Glad ut you better lie down now, John?
It's getting very late; you will be worse
tomorrow"
Her eyes, sad, faded and fearful, sought
the little maniel clock, and then rested
anXiously again upon the face Of her hus-
band.
"No, dear" replied the sick man, sha-
king his head, while the rich uncut curls
danced upon his paIIid check, and a sin
Tular expression crossed his countenauce
Il think I'll sit a little longer yet. Put
one stick on the tive--that some way chiIls
to my heart"
Quickly and quietly the poor woman
took from her little closet the last and
most coveted store of dry wood, and while
she bent over tie broken Goals, adjusting
it to the Unlocking Gre e-place, the sick man
held his hand, with curious look, to his
eyes, examined the finger nails, heavily
pressed his damp forehead, and groaned .
"WhaL is it, dear ?"
"Nothing that alarms me-" he replied
quietly, "but, at that moment, it flashed
across my memory, among other things,
tha! tonight we have mourned just five
years for the death of our poor boy"
Eyes, SO it is the night" said the wife,
Lhouy yhtfu!Iy. at was just such night,
too. when the old seXto2 brought the news.
But we were better OF then, and did Mt
mind if the snow blew in. for there was
snch fire in the gratc--a living coal fire,
such as we haven't seen for months, and
you were so heaI5hy then. rather think,
John, that was what broke you down.
eyes. yes !" replied the other, hastily:
"L haven't been the same man since; tut
we must not complain; Providence is al
ways good though it seem ever so dark.
Wallace was noble fellow, and | have
never forgiven myself, that by forcing up
on him a trade with which he was disgust
ed, drove him to sea. Oh if parents
only knew just what to do--if only they
were not SO wiIful y
He clasped his hands as Ire spoke, and
gazed fxedly at the fire that threw forth
now second blaze. "If only they were
not so wilful," he added with softer
voice.
In few moments he looked up again.
and, smiling placidly, said, 'it seems to
me, Mary. don't feel so bad about lcav-
ing you tonight as have before.''
"Don't, John-oh let US talk Of some
thing else. II you are to die, John,
don't want to know-think of it'll it is
all over. l thought heard grosn," she
added, moving a little ways from the FIRE;
81 get so nervous when you talk So"
cit was the wind. dear. Hear how it
beats that broken blind wish l was
strong enough to mend it. Hark it halls
heavily; God pity the Mariner" his voice
trembled and sank. In moment he ad
ded--"It seems to be good fire, too, but
some way it don't warm my feet. Thank
you, Mary. that will be better-thank
you, dear"
She had stopped down, and was now
holding those thin feet in her hands, cha
6ng them brlskly and tenderly. The half
wjerd light Of the fire, as it sunk at times,
left strange brown hollows in that care
worn face. 1t struck out the shadows of
the tall high post bedstead, whose latter
ed curtain had been gathered around to
the side where the sick man lay. The
high backed chairs threw out shapes like
cotins on the uncarpeted floor, and the
little octagonal table made ghastly show
of itself along the unpapered wall
"It did sound something like groan, ~
said John, returning his wife's fearful
glance, ''but it must be the wind moaning
up stairs. Those ooms are old and era
zy, and not,rented: they are full of crew.
ces for the wind TO pass through, and l
dare say the noise might be accounted for
in a dozen ways. There, precious wife.
you are wearying yourself. feel better
already; so sit here by my side, and let us
talk together of old times
Shutting the tears back, Mrs. Leslie
wrapped her husbands feet in we'll warm
ed flannel, and drew chair close beside
him. The clock struck that moment.
was eleven.
eleven o'clock" he said. as he tool
her hand in his, now emaciated with Ion!
sickness; .'it's a good clock. Mary, an,
what furniture We have is pretty decen1