Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1860-12-19

hours alone with her children, until his re-
turn, which was often past the silent nour
of midnight.
All little did she dream of the bitter cup
SO soon to be held to her lips-little did she
d cam that the tavern and the gamling table
were the resort of him she loved so we'll
but SO it vas, and soon, too soon was Edith
aware Of the painful fact
But, this evening, as she sat at the open
| door caressing her darling son. sadly think
ing of the happy past, a strange indeficahie
fear came over her. As yet she knew not 1
that her beloved Henry had become victim
of intemperance; but while thinking of his
strangs and altered demeanor, the truth
flashed upon her mind. Nor was this all,
for at this moment she saw him approach the
gate She sprang up, as had been her wont,
| 20 meet him, but the haggard look of drunk
/ eneSs repe!led her for moment; she stood |
| aghast, gazing upon him as he passed her, |
reeling aud staggering to the house. His |
boy spran. to mis- side to receive his eve
ming KISS but was coldly, harshly repulsed. |
With look of astonishmest the little fellow |
| shrunk away into corner and sadly won |
dered what could be the matter with his |
dear papa.
But to poor Edith the blow was almost
too much for her gentle nature. She said
til this first fit of drunkenness was past, think
ing then to point out to him the error of his
ways, and if possible, reclaim him. But her
thoughts were allusive-he had passed the
barrier, there was no more shame people
knew that he had been intoxicated, and not
even the tears of her who he had sworn to
Glove protect and cherish" could move him.
From This time onward his life was one of
misery and degradation. He neglected his
business, cared for nothing but the billiard
table and the sparkling wine, and night af-
ter night would he stagger home to
bis poor heart broken Edith, who toiled ear
iy and late with her needle to gain for herself
AMI her poor children the actual necessaries
of life
Often did she think of appealing to her
father, informing him of her unhappy situa-
ton ana ask him to take her and her lovely
children to the parental roof-and then she
thons hit of her love for Henry in days past, a
portion Of which still fingered around her
heart-she thought of him as the father Cf
her children, and then she could not leave
him; though changed, he was still the one
to whom she had given her young heart, and
she hoped the time might come when he
would arouse from the spell that bound him
2 and become again man but she hoped al
most against hope. Every day he grew
worse and worse--cruel and abusive at
home, a common sot at the tavern Still
Edith bore up under all this, for hope was
strong in her heart; and for the sake of hel
dear children, she strove at Zines to aReeal
cheerful, for she knew it panied their little
hearts to see their mother sad.
But new distresses were awaiting her
Her boy, her bright-eyed darling, began tc
droop; oh, how fondly did she watch him as
,.L1 i'll, l.
and the light from his eye-she knew that ht
to stay with her, telling him her fears anC
pointing to the little emaciated form of the
first born. With careless laugh, he babe he
, get away, and passed out of the house.
; Oh, how deep was the grief that was fas
breaking the heart of poor Edith-but he
boy, what could she do?~ She knew that hi
; hours were numbered, and in all probability
, long before his fathers return, his pure spiri
would wing its flight to that better worl
where sighing is unknown. Is.
e Taking him in her arms, she strove to lul
: him to rest, but in vain pressing his col
t lips 70 her face, he asked for his papa. Edit
: told him he bad gone, but hoped he wou
: come soon.
: Oh said the dying child, 81 wish h
' would come home; do you not think h
would kiss me cnce more as he used to do
e Sing to me, mother, and wrap me closer i
; your arms, for L am cold, so very cold"
;. Edith strove to comply with this last re
S quest of her dying boy-he closed his eye:
+ one convulsiye shudder, and all was over
r Edith laid him upon the low bed, and fo
J. hours she watched alone beside him. 1t va
night; the soft breathing of her only remain
d ing child came softly to her ear, and silent
d she prayed that God would spare her, to b
n a comfort in her declining years; and agai
e pressing her lips to the brow of the little lif
IA less form before her, she watched besid til
J. dead. step she heard approaching. All
s how well she knew the sound it was ht
It husbands. He entered the room one glant
!, told Edith that he was perfectly sober, but s
e sunk in grief was she at the loss of her i'd
: that she could not speak. With sigh 81
It pointed 10 the little figure now "stretche
in everlasting rest" He Heapproached the be
o and stood for some time gazing upon the lif
IS less face of his neglected child and tears h
q burning tears of remorse and sorrow, role
p silently down his haggard cheeks, and Il
upon the placid brow of his angeLboy Tur
n ing Slowly around, he gazed as one ava
4 ing from dream upon the pale, sorroWf
: countenance of his once happy wife. Takir
It her passive hand, he pressed it to his lips.
h EIith, he murmured, can you forgiy,
" Think Of our early love, and tell me that "
IS Il forgive all. Oh my sadly abused and S,
!, ferin5 wife, but still dear to me, say that y,
ID forgive the past the future may be bright
st This day have taken solemn oath that
/. will never again touch aught that can into
ht icate. Your words to me this morning as
he 50 cruelty left you, touched chord in n
n heart that still yibrates. | have passed tt
day in remor5e. | thought could never
a. turn and ask your forgiveness. | feared t
20 sufferings of which have been the sole car
- ! had alienated from your heart every spark
.ove you ever cherished; but when | did
/ last return, it was with different feelings, |
&c reflection convinced me that your heart v
p 100 fond and gentle to harbor malice agai,
,. a weak, blind man. Ifit can be any reco
&c perse, know how bitterly also have suff
OF &c. Yours was the sorrowng of pure a
7l[ owing soul over one lost and deceiving, /
OF nine have been the pangs of remorse,
40 proach-" He could say no more but sinki
en into seat beside her, buried his face in
n nandS,
ns Edith arose and, pressing her lips to
Is Is burning brow, whispered in his car the gen
% words of forgiveness
le- 'Oh, my husband" she murmured, " il
lrs for this that l have prayed. Thou art say
Sc sc Henry, my darling husband; We may
'ly happy"
eu Little more remains to be told. The sole
rites of burial were performed and the be