True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-03-15
geleet Gule*
From the Waverly Magazine.
TWO SIDES OF LIES PATHWAY,
By AMANDA NJ. DOUGLASS.
CHAPTER /.
"'Tis love alone that makes this earth
Less dreary than desert Wild"

10 lONc dlOHC bHub iUhhCb tllIS Sbith
Less dreary than desert Wild"
IT was even ide---the slow decline Of
fair summer day, The western fires had
not all burned out, and indolently stretch
Ing themselves over the horizon were gold,
blue, and crimson clouds, commingling
together, as if fearful night should steal
away day too soon. The air was balmy
with fragrant odors-thc last sigh of the
flowers ere they folded their petals, and
d, were lulled by the south wind to Sleep
The rivulets, too, seemed to feel change,
for, instead Of the gay, glad dashing of
midday, they wound along softly trilling
their evening hymns-stopping a moment
to return the kiss of overhanging flowers,
or tall grass, while the bite night star
pseped up here and there, opening its tiny
leaves to receive the genial dew, and greet
Its sister spirits when they<.igRt dance on
heavens broad plain. Z Around the edge
Of the forest, twilight was dimly stealing,
and the littls @ire-Aics lit their lamps and
sdarkezed them again, half unconsciously
= ssyealing the deeper darkness, While voices
,.inymmerable sent forth from their leafy
ooyert concert of wild, unw1itten, yet
sweetly varied nusic--broken, occasionally
by the shrill scream of the night-hawk, or
the lingering sadness of the whip-poor-wills
lay The day had been beautiful; but
evening, as it came to the weary spirit,
eooihed each rising fear, impartlng Sc
rene calmness to the soul, until it half
started from its dreamy sphere to hold
eommunion with those above.
Allan Everard walked along the road
side, unhceding alike whether there were
roses, planted by loving angels, in his path,
sor thorns sown by demons-whether there
was glorious sky, painted by natures
great limner, God, over his head, or the
soft velvet turf under his feet, bespangled
with buttercups and daisies; it mattered
but little to him then, for memory, with
her countless fingers, was busy at his heart,
.snd 30 tightly were the chords drawn, that
each one she touched woke acute mental
gsufering-yet no sound passed his lips, no
look indicated his agony, save perhaps the
\ lines on the brow were deeper, and the
lips tightly compresscd-these alone spoke
Of suffering, yet a stranger would only
have noted sternness.
Silently he walked along. On one side
we're large trees, where, ever and anon
the fairy fingered zephyr swept the wind
harp, rcvcrbcrating melody through the
giant oaks, that had for centuries defed
the blast; pine, laurel, cedar, all inter-
mingled, weaving one mass of stateliness
and grandeur, On the other side lay
Rosedell calmly sleeping in the hazy twi
light, while guardian-like the broad river
flowed around, ns if the massy waves would
engulf one who dared stop on the shore o.
that Eden spot with thought of desecra
tion in his heart,
Allan Evorard was an ardent enthusiast
From boyhood he longed to steal away
from the busy, careless crowd, and pene
trate the deepest recesscs of nature--wan
der where the finger of God alone had ira
ced-but none of these things filed hi
heart now. 1t had been bliss to rove will
spirit free and untrammeled-with sou
full of lofty impulses, that might be fel
but not uttered; there were opening flow
ers to smile on such path-there wer
singing birds, and natures multitudinou
voices to incite the spirit to its utmost
but when stranger hand had despoile,
those flowers, and left but the impress 0
misery where lately all was joy and beauty
there could be but little bliss left for tn
sufferer.
4 Neither to the right nor the left did h
turn, except when neighbor passed an
said, "good eyen';;" and then he merel
nodded his head, as if fearful Of losin
Sslf.control if the lips were opened. Ono
they would have looked up cheerily an
asked, "HOw is Lucy and the little one !!
hut now their unspokop pity almost chafe