True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1856-02-13

will you come for me, papa!" she asked;
sand when shall l see mamma again!"
"Next summer, darling" he answered,
as he gave her kiss; for he really loved
the child; "and in the mean time Sella
must be good girl and learn all she can, to
please papa"
The doctors little wife turned her face
sadly from the scene; for, Notwithstanding
the statement of Linwood, that his wife,
the child's mother, was desirous that she
should receive the benefit of northern
education, she had her own suspicious about
the truth of the story. Seepless nights
had she passed since their arrival-long
hours of anxious thought and reflection.
But although, as she said, she felt convinced
that the result must be unhappiness to the
child, yet she was sure there must eventu-
ally be still greater misery, were she taken
back to her sunny home.
The evening meal was partaken of in a
spirit Of sadness by all but the Children
Mrs. Carleton herself was vaguely troubled
by feeling of insecurity and doubt as to
the position in which she was placing her.
self as guardian over this child; while the
doctor was serious and quiet from sympa-
thy. Young Linwood appeared distracted
and moody; and the doctor, as he noticed
the quick glances of his bold, daring eye,
and his sudden start at every sound, won
dered what strange humor was come upon
him. Andthus the repast, usually so pleas
ant and cheering, was hastily and gloomily
despatched, and the little ones were taken
away to their downy nests.
DR.. Carleton, as was his invariable Gus
tom after tea, threw himself upon the soft,
green moss beneath his favorite willow
and smoked his cigar. dozing and day.
dreaming the while, as gentlemen are apt
to do who have no earthly cares or troubles
to annoy them, and a great store of blessings
to be thankful for. But the lady of the
mansion and her handsome guest sat Ions
over the tea table, planning, arranging anc
calculating the destiny of the little being
about to be left in her care, and to whom
she must become protector, friend, anc
mother.
These preparatory measures were all con
cluded at length. The last spark at the
end of the doctors cigar had disappeared
and he finished his day dreams, to prepare
for the more fancful but far less deludins
visions of his sleeping hours. The party
retired to their rest.
An hour later, and the calm, placid mool
looked down on the shining ripples of tht
blue waters, over whose bosom not shad,
rested, and watched the million colder
stars dancing and sparkling in their mid
night revels like spirits of the deep, WHIT
wake to life and joy when men are locket
in the cells of sleep. 1t was glorious
sight, and mortal might gazed forever
l But the moon has other scenes beneatl
her as beautiful as this.
So she peeped down through the culver
ing boughs of the birch and willow, to glad
!. den the blossoms sleeping below; and will
her magical touch she flung shadow her
t and light there, till this simple New Eng
land home shone resplenIent as fairyland
y She looked in throug the half-closed blind
of the sitting room; and finding all as i
I should be there, she sought the sleepin,
: apartment above, where the doctor wa
l dreaming of patients and fees, while hi
wife slept peacefully by his side.
Il Looks tie noon on nought bur tronquilli
ty ant glodness tonight! Alas! in tbi
\ same happy hrme, scarcely seNarated fron
}. those who slumber quietly in their nho
9 cence, kneels by the bedside of her onl
2 Guild heartbroken mother, fervently pray
ing, in her agony, to the God whom sh
Z hardly knows but by name, that he will
take the bitter cup from her lips.
1t is the dark lady who so startled tn
Q southern gentleman by her unexpecte
i presence in the afternoon. She has follow
ed wildly, from her home on the banks Q
the far off Cumberland, with an almost de
IS spairing hope burning in her bosom that he
e child might be restored to her.
: Poor suffering daughter of shame an
: sin. thy journey shall avail thee nough,
I All thy deep sorrow, all thy tears, thy VOC
d thy prayers will not move from his purpos
J. the father Of thy child. Thy child! Tho
i mayst not call her thine now, for she shal
o know thee no more. Alas! when thou frs
e gazedst into the depths of her dark eyes
d and saw that she was more her fathers chill
n than thine--that she inherited his feature
l. his raven locks, and much more his com
IS plexion than thine,--how shouldst tho
l. know that thy fervent joy was but the fore
!. runner of such bitterness as this! Bu
70 thou art slave!
% The little Selome murmured incoherent
ly in her sleep, and tossing restlessly 0
a lhsr bed, cast her arms around her dar