Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1859-04-16

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vile and children were with my ship, thu
was 20 come home some day, and bring me
an immense fortune. ! did not know how
long the voyage might take, not knowing
even from what port the vessel was to start
and so ] lived under the wings Of the Spread
Eagle, and worked at my manuscript ant
waited.
was not, by any means, the only dwellei
in the eyrie. People we're coming and going
all the time but | scarcely ever saw them, OF
heard their names. The sitting room next
niue, on the second floor, would be tenan ted
one month by a couple with an indefinite
| number of children and the next, it may be
/ by an old gentleman, who made no noise, and
rarely spoke, except to tell his servant &c
bring more wine then would come travel
! ling artist, with his sketcb.books and his
! great Newfoundland dog. and they would
| play at rough.and.tumble together, after be
had done work, till the house shook, and the
nervous lady above nearly went to fits and
he would bo succeeded by musician, who
would play oil day and part OF the night
! till the same lady declared she should be
ready for Bedem but she never was ready,
and never went-at least to my knowledge.
! For my part, | was always satlshed. W hen
the children were there, and playing so moi.
sy that could not thisk, | used to lay down
my pen aud wonder what their names were,
and how they looked, and if they were play.
| ing the same games played in my boyhood
! $50 many years ago y with my brothers and
my cousins. The great dog used often to
meet me in the passage aud give me friendly
wag of the tail, if pated his head, and after
that his bark WAS music to my ears for defy
any one, who has a heart, to make the a.
quaintunce ofa dog--a Newfoundland espec-
ally-and not love him. And the composer.
who played all day the sweet creations Of bis
soUi-Gud knows what loving tender Gancles
came to me now and then, as the melody
wOve itself in with what was writing, almost
before | knew it, | am happy fellow, natu
rally, and disposed to make the best ofeyery-
thing; but setting this entirely aside, am
sure was better and L kinder man for the
neighbors had.
One day the room was taken, after it had
been standing empty for a week, and heard
the voices Of an old man, his wife, and the
fresh clear tones of yonng girl | often
judge people by their voice before | see them
and pictured the lady to myself quite cor.
rectly. There was riBg in her words,
buoyant, lark like tone. that gave me the idea
of happy spirit and perfect health. Now
and then the voice deepened and softened,
and deepened, and knew that her face had
lost its smile, and that she was looking grave
perhaps sad. So | knew that she had suf-
fered, and as day after day went on, and the
voice grew familiar, judged that she had
suffered deeply. There WAS something be.
hind that natural gaiety, known only to her.
self and God, it may be, aud yet it threw o
gloom over her whole life, and would always
do so. And thought | should like to see
In M / tDu
asked the landlord about the party. He
looked at the book, and read the names,
"Rev. Edward Williams and lady. Mrs
Arnold, New York city
"They ore Americans, then? ?" ! exclaim.
ed.
$50 il seems. They came here three weeks
ago by the packet, Ond are going to Paris
next month. Very nice people they seem,
but then have queer ways. All Americans
have, am often told"
"Ies-they seem odd to US. TO doubt"
said, musiugly-scarcely knowing what had
answered. And then | went up to my room
and wondered if Mrs, Arnold was widow, or
if her husband was st.ll living. If so, | felt
strongly inclined to strange or shoot him,
without any delay. 1t is very ridiculous
yet also, quite slncere-the feeling one man
has towards another who (as be thinks) has
robbed him Of something which might have
beautied his own life. am sure many q
married woman would laugh heartily if she
but knew the laucies that pass through the
brain Of one Of her bachelor friends, who ad.
mireS her, as lie sees her with child in her
arms, or her sweet face looking over her hus
bands shoulder Stupid man y as lie pores
over dry newspaper, quite unconscious Of
her presence.
While | sat thinking thus Of Mr.. Arnold,
Mrs. Arnold. in the next room, began to sing
There was good piano in No. ~, and had
often heard her play before. But this eve
ming she only seemed recalling .nntches Of
sweet sad songs, and felt sure she was alone.
Her touch upon the keys was soft and dreamy
sometimes she was playing with one hand.
and then would come long pause, though !
had not heard her leave her seat. ! would
have given worlds to have been beside her,
in that hour Of twilight. But it faded (:
and the cold wall Of my room was still be-
tween US. heard her singing, 'Then you'll
remember me-" very softly, and then the mu.
sic ceased. If had sat by myself any more
! am sure should have been mad enough to
90 into the next room so, taking up my
hat and gloves, | went out for a walk.
The door of No, AZ stoed halfway open,
and from my end Of the passage | could sec
into the room plainly, for the boy had just
lit the gas aud drawn the curtains. She was
standing over the piano, dressed in deep
mourning, though a weddng.ring and its
heavy guard shone on her left hand. Thank
heaven the fellow is dead ~ l thought /;
and then the next moment laughed at my
absurdity. She had the evening paper in her
hand, yet though her head was bent, | could
see her face quite we'll. In only one thing
was she different from her counterpart in my
brain-she was not beautiful, as had fanci.
cd she must be. She was tall and straight
and elegant in form and her face was one
of those which change and vary with every
shade OF feeling but only redeemed from
plainness by pair OF deep set and benuti-
fully shaped eyes, whose color, found
when she threw the paper aside, was that
dark lovely blue, one scarcely ever sees, en-
cept in the sky Of summer night. Just
the eyes had dreamed Of all my life-nnd
yet, there was not the slightest chance that
I. would ever lock at me, as they had
d, tess looked at Mr.. Arnold, deceased, q
tht and tines She was girlish widow
yet acre was something 10 her manner which
betrayed the married woman-an ease and
aplOmb, which rarely or never shows itself in
young girl, especially if she has been reared
carefully by mothers hand.
| might have stood in the passage all night,
critiosing her, had she not entered it herself,
suddenly. (for her movements were all as
quick as flashes Of light) and taking me so by
surprise, that i am sure she would have seen
me staring in at her, had she not, luckily for