Marshall County Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1855-1859, 1856-04-10

talks, had won the love of this fragile child
whose days on earth were manifestly al
most numbered.
And now came a fierce struggle in his
mind as to what was the coarse Of duty un-
these circumstances. She was beautiful
and very lovely, but did he love her? No,
he did not Could he love her? Doubt
less yes. Her father lad evidently seen ali
and was willing that it should be 50. Her
brief life might have this one bright day
of sunshine: this one hour of gladness; and
then all would be over. He would give all
he had to buy her life; but since that might
not be, he would buy her happiness while
she lived at any price. And the young
clergyman saw all this, and then came
across his memory the splendid beauty of
Mary Pierson, the magnificent dream of
his younger days, and it fought with him,
but he conquered it.
None but he who has once experienced
it knows the tremendous power eta mem
! ory' 1t takes entire possession Of the soul
like storm, sweeping over all that has
grown there and taken deep root-all
the flowers that have been cherished,
al the great trees that have grown up
d. in strength, all the webs of fancy that
hang here there covered with dewdrops.
And to oppose and overcome such a
power is victory that strong man may
be proud of. Such he achieved, and there
was calm after the storm.
Dead peace was in the house and heart
of the clergyman after he had married his
young wife, and peace, like river, flowed
through her soul.
She was fainting, falling out of beauti
full world. in which she had found nothing
but Joy till now All her life long she had
been the child Of ease, pleasure and luxu
ry. No wish had been denied All that
she wanted, she had, and when it became
evident to her unwilling reason shat the end
was come, it was hard, very hard. But
love was now made perfect in enjoyment,
and she lay calmly on her husbands breast
for the few weeks that were TO intervene
between the blessed moment when she cal
led him her own; and that moment when
she must give away everything, even his
hand, his arm, his love; no, not his love,
she would take that to heaven with her;
to make it even more glad and hopeful there
And he was happy, perfectly happy
There was no shadow on his heart More
and more each day he grew to her, and as
he SO increased in his love for her, there
did begin to come over him dark cloud
He looked to her death with more and more
fear, and sorrow, and apprehension. Per-
haps it was selfish. Perhaps he felt that
he should again be delivered over to the
terrible power of that memory that he had
once SO well conquered. Perhaps he dill
not love his wife with a single love, and
therefore he shrank more and more from
tie moment of parting.
Whatever it was, it grew on him, and he
looked fondy on her face and forgot all the
past In her presence, that became more TO-
ly as she approached the hour when she
should be an angel. And he did not know
that Sunday afternoon that the little church
contained within it all the hopes of his
life, all his means, all that he had valued
in boyhood or in the maturer affections Of
manhood
a year after Phillip Winslow stood by
the bedside of his dying wife Her black
eyes, overflowing with love OF him and
hope Of heaven, were fixed with unuttera-
bic JOY on his calm countenance. Her
white hand, white and thin as the hand that
the phantom of dream waves at us, lay
In his calmly, con6dingIy.
Phillip my husband, say once more that
We shall meet again
We shall, dear wife, we shalt thank
God that he has promised us that
oh, Phillip. l will wait for you in tho
happiest valley of that happy country. Do
you love me; Phillip
Dear wife,
May God reward you for your love. l
have not been worth it, but oh. how you
have blessed me with st. 1t has been the
breath of heaven over me even here
'A letter for YOU, sir
1t was servant entering the room with
a light step, who handed it to him. He
glanced at direction, and sharp pang shot
through his frame, ana visible pallor was
on his face, He turned from the bedside.
1t convulsiveiy in his hand. and
staggered rather than walked towards the
window where the last rays of the sunshine
We're streaming in through the halfclosed
shutters. He looked at it again, aud sa,
down feebly, as if in pain.
Again the tempest was up. Again the
Wild Hoods were over his soul.
II