Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1859-06-08

/ y
ished on him too much affection. He has
forgotten me. A Weather bride will soon
be his. Honor and renown he will win
by his talents, and the world will call him
great, and the poor lone Swiss girl, who
once lived in the sunlight Of his smiles, will
lie broken-hearted in the dreamless grave"
My darling soon passed away. Few
there were to weep for her; connections,
she had few, but many friends, whom she
had gained in the sweet little village of
P, where she had come With her nm
Gle and his family; stood sadly around her
grave and placed on her the sad cold earth
clods.
Her uncle and his wife mourned as for
dear and only child, and felt as if her
death had left void not easily filled in
my heart. | know plain, matter of fact
people say, the heart will not, cannot break,
that it is all fancy. Whether hearts do |
really, literally break or not, | leave for
others to say and prove, but that grief, Bit
ter unalIoyed grief, has swept like an un-
timely frost over the heart of many, and |
stilled its throbbings, and cast it like a
blighted flower low into the dust, [ have
no doubt.
Gaze on the pale faces, the dropping
forms, that meet you at every step. A few
months, the attenuated form, the ghastly
face, with the sad smile lingering around
the icy lips, is seen no longer, tolling bell
is heard, the new made grave receives the
victim; few friends, gathered around it,
weep for the "early lost;" long obituary
appears, and then the worlds panorama
moves on, the sleeper is forgotten, stranger
feet press the sod, little thinking that there,
beneath that green grass, sleeps in death
the weary victim of sorrow.
There are some hearts so intensely sem
t sitive that when sorrows come, or disap-
+ pointments cast their dark mantles around,
: they lnger and die, and such heart was
r Christine Clair's, and now she has gone to
j the realization of brighter hopes than ever
e dawned on her here, the hope of Eternal
n Life. 49,. ..
+ l returned from the grave of my friend
$ with better, higher feelings, more refined
It from earthly thoughts as 1 hope, but not
= to forget her. | took the miniature she
It had so loved, and looked at it for some
L time. 1t was that of young gentleman
r in the pride of youth. True nobility Of
k soul seemed written on his high classical
n brow. His eyes seemed as if they would
d pierce through the very soul of men and
IS read his inmost thoughts. did not won
e der that Christine loved him. l sat there
Ill in the still light, and thought of>the two
a Could he have deceived herr Had ht
- promised to love her only and them be
l false Could any one, who had know
Vn Christine, and loved her, ever forget9
IL had not then learned of the power tn
tn world had over the souls of its worshippers
If, She had not told me his name. He wa
ny stranger to me. This dream of Chris
nd tines life had passed before she came t
nd our village. placed the miniature ava
with that of my friend. | knew all cor
INT lectures would be in vain, but could nc
err help thinking that at some time | woul
est meet him who had once loved my poo
pm lost friend, and who must have caused h
In sorrow, for her diving eyes had filled wit
er, tears, as she gazed on his face for the la
OF time, and then gave it into my hands, an
she had said he would not grieve for he
ma We cannot, while life and its many car
OF are crowding our days and hours, set dow
the idly to cherish our grief for the departu
NY of our friends. So in few weeks, | W
he again from home, toiling, often YEARLY,
ing the school room. Sometimes with hea
ost almost overwhelmed with the weight
dy- responsibility and care, then cheerily kno'
ar ing there were CLEANS of sunshine restil
Is here and there, and one bright land whe
- We would rest in the sunlight of the Fat
al er's love-
- CHAPTER ii.