Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1855-02-28
q GbOite 4iterature.
(From Arthur's Home Magazine.)
BITTER AND SWEET.
BY MRS. MARY A. DENIsoN.

Her eyes, sad, faded and fearful, sought
the little mantel clock, and then rested
baud.
No dear, replied the sick man, shaking
us head, while the rich uncut curls danced
upon his pallid cheek, and singular ex-
{ RsssSsoh. y. crossed hIs enuntegance.- i think
ll ~ 'sSesfc fongTeyet Put one stick
Athe fire, dear my feet are very cold,
and It's cold, too, that someway chills to
my heart
Quickly and quietly the poor woman took
from her little closet the last and most COW
eted store of dry wood, and while she bent
over the broken Goals, adjusting it to the
ill-looking fire. place, the sick man held his
hand, with curious look, to his eyes, ex-
amined the finger nails, heavily pressed his
damp forehead, and groaned
What is it, dear 2
Nothing that alarms me- he replied,
quietly, but, at that moment, it flashed
across my memory, among other things,
that o-night we have mourned just five
years for the death of our poor boy
Yes, so it is the night said the wife,
thoughtfully. 1t was just such night,
too, when the old sexton brought the news
But we were better off then, and didn't
mind if the snow blew in, for there was
such fire in the CRATE "a living coal fire
such as we havn't seen for months and
you were so healthy then. rather think,
John that was what broke you down
'Yes, yes! replied the other, hastily; Il
havn't been the same man since but we
must not complain; Providence is always
good though it seem ever 50 dark. Wal
lace was a noble fellow, and | have never
forgiven myself, that by forcing upon him
u trade with which he was disgusted, |
drove him to sea. Oh if parents only
knew just what to do If only they were
not so wilful
He claspcd his hands as he spoke, and
gazed fxcdly at the fire that threw forth
now steady blaze. If only they were
not so wilful,' he added, with softer voice.
In a few moments he looked up again,
and, smiling placidly, said, sit seems to
me, Mary, don't feel so bad about leav-
ing you, tonight, as | have before
thing else. II YOU are to die, JOHN, l don
want to know-think of it till it is al
over. thought heard groan,' she ad
ded, moving little ways FROM the fire;
get so nervous when you talk So
1t was the wind, dear Hear how
beats that broken blind | wish l wa
strong enough to mend it. Hark =! it hail
heavily; God pity the mariner his voic
tremblel aud sank. In moment he ad
ded, 1T seems to be good fire, too, bu
someway it don't warm my feet; than
you, Mary, that will be better; thank yor
dear
She had stopped down, and was no
holding those thin feet in her hands, cha
Gnr them briskly and tenderly. The hal
wierd light of the fire, as it sunk at time
loft strange brown hollows in that car
worn face. 1t struck out the shadows
the tall high-post bedstead, whose tatter'
curtain had been gathered around to t
side where the sick man laid. The hlj
backed chairs threw out shapes like cofl
on the uncarpeted floor, aud the little (
taroual table made CHASTITY show of its
along the unpapercd wall
1T did sound something like groa
said John, returning his wife's fear
glance tbut it must DC the wind moanl
Tp.stairs. Those rooms are old and Graz
aud not rented they are full of crew
for the wind to rush through, and d
saw the noise might be accounted for il
dozen ways. There, precious wife, you
yearyiug yourself | feel better alreac
50 sit here by my side, and let us talk
eether Of old times
Shutting the tears back, Mrs. lie
wrapped her husbands feet in well W
Aanucl, aud drew chair close beside b
The clock struck that moment-it was e
en-.
Eleven o'clock he said, as he took
hand in his, now emaciated with long $
- ness 'ifs a good clock, Mary, and "
furniture we have is pretty decent. W
- am
She stopped him with kiss, but the t
rained down her cheeks, and the wild st
outside grew wilder
You have not altered much, Mar,
the twenty years of our marriage Lee
see; you were eighteen. How modest
blooming you were, seated in your
school.room, on the FIRST day of our n
ing Roses hung from your curls t
placcu lutIc Wy tuuoVShG huSSleJ auu L
strong and full Of high hopes; hopes,
that have not been realized
But will be in Heaven, John,
Mary, lifting her dark eyes.
Il believe it; have never doubted
the future is all my hope now. The
have sown here has taken unseen
doubtless, aud blossomed up to Heavt
There shall eat Of the ripened fruit.
I never doubt for n moment the INN
destiny Of man.
How your face shines, john
Il am very happy, Mary; don't
as ever felt happier. know the
not a crust Of bread in the house, an
is the last Of our poor little wood pile
vet feel as certain that God will pr
some way. am only sorry that you
had 50 much care with me, but Ikno,
sweetened it all
'Oh! yes, John; yes, all my ca
been pleasure aud if it is Gods wi