Indiana American. [volume] (Brookville, Ind.) 1833-1861, 1855-04-06

For so long time had this state Of
things existed. that her husband was
fast losing his wontei chccrfulness of
temper. He was in no way indiifer.
ont TO his wfc's condition; few men,
in fact. could have sympathized more
deeply. or sought with more untiring
assduily TO tighten the burden which
ill.hcalth had laid upon her. But. in
her case. though was NIL turned to self.
IL was like the blood flowing back. in
congestion upon the heart. instead of
diflusing itself, healthfully. over the
system.
Thus IL went on--tho invalid grow
ing worse instead of better Not a
want was expressed, that money did
not supply; not caprice or fancy or
appetite which met not proiiered
qualification. But oil availed not
her worst disease was mental, having
its origin in ordinate selfshness. II
never came into her mind to deny her.
self for the sake Of others; TO slino
her complaints. lest they should pain
the ears Of her husband. children
or friends; to bear the weight Of
suffering laid upon her with, at least,
an effort Of checrfulness. And so she
became burden TO those who loved
her. In her presence the sweet voices
Of children were hushed. ard smiles
faded away. Nothing that was gay.
or glad. or cheerful. came near her.
that it did not instantly change into
sobriety or sadness.
Not very far away from the beau
tiful home Of this unhappy invalid. is
another sufferer from ill.health. We
will look in upon her. The chamber
Is poorly furnished, containing scarce
ly an article, the absence OF which
would not have abridged the comfort
Of its occupant. We enter.
What light has come into those
sunken eyes, and over that pale facel
We take the thin, white hand. A
touch of sadness is in our voice that
will not be repressed. rs we make en-
quiries about her health; but she an
swers choerfully and hopefully.
DO you,suIler pain?
Yes: but mostly at night. All day
long find SO much to interest me,
and SO many thoughts about my chill
dren to oil my mind, that l hardly
find time to think about my own feel
ings. Care is a blessing
With what a patient, heavenly smile
this is said How much of life's true
philosophy is contained in that closing
sentence! Yes. care is blessing.
What countless thousands would, but
for daily care, be unutterably miscra-
BILE. And yet, We are ever trying to
throw off care. TO rise into positions
where we will be free from action or
duty.
The voice Off child is now heard. II
is crying.
Dear little Aggyl What can all
herr? says the mother tenderly. And
she inclines an ear. listening earnestly.
The crying continues.
Poor child Something is wrong
with her. Won't you open the door
moment"
The door is opened and the sick
mother calls the name of 'Aggy' two
or three times. But her voice is too
feeble to reach the distant apartment.
We second the mothers wishes. and
go for the grieying little one.
Mother wants Aggy.'
What magic words! The crying
has ceased instantly, and rainbow
smiles are seen through falling tears.
Dear little dovel What has ,rou-
bled To- How tender and soothing
and full! of love is the voice that utters
these words We lift Aggy upon the
bed A moment. and her fresh warm
cheek is close to the pale face Of her
mother; while her hand is nesting in
her bosom.
The smile that plays SO beautifully
over the invalid's face has already an.
swered the question we were about to
ask-"Will not the child disturb you?
But our face has betrayed our thoughts
and she says:
Il can't bear to have Aggy away
iiom me. She rarely annoys me. A
dear, good child-yet only child. for
whom only mother can think wisely.
She rarely leaves my room that she
doesn't get into some trouble; but my
presence quickly restores the sun
shine.
The bell rings. Theie is u murmur
Of voices below; and now, light feet
come tripping up the stairs. The
door opens, and two little girls enter,
just from school. Does the sick moth
er put up her hand to enjoin silenceY
Does she rcpclthenl. by look or word?
Oh. no.
We'll, Mary-well, Anna?' she says
kindly. They bend over and kiss her
gently and lovingly; then speak mod
estly TO the visitor.
How do you feel mothcr?' asks the
Oldest of the two. Does your head
ache?
Not now. dear. 1t ached while
|, ago; but it Is better now.
'Wha. made II ache, mother?'
Something troubled Aggy, and her
crying sent a pain through my tenn
Piles. But, 1t went away with tho
clouds that passed from hcrdarling lit
tie face
why. she's asleep mothcr' exclaim-
ed Anna.
So she is. Dca,, little lamb!--
Asleep with tear on her check. Turn
her crib around, love SO that Ican lay
her in it,
No. you mustn't lift her. says Ma.
ry. 1t will make your head ache. -
: And the elder Of the children lifts hen
baby sister in her arms. nnd carefully
lays her in her crib
/ did you say all your lessons cor.
rectly this morning?' now asks tn,
/ mother
I i didn't miss word. replied Mury
Z Nor l., says Anna.
Il 'n, ,,tal off, IL .1..,... H.. -.