Democrat and sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1853-1866, 1861-07-31

his sight. a dim remembrance of his widowed
mothers face, her smoothly braided hair and
and flowing white dress, was one of the few re-
collections entwined with the period before al
became dark to him.
The boy grew up, tall, slender, delicate, with
dark. pensive eyes, which bore no trace of the
| calamity that had destroyed their powers of vi
| sion; grave, though not sad dreamy, enthusi-
astic, and requiting his mcther's care with the
deepest veneration and tenderness. In the first
years of his childhood, and also wherever his
education did not take them to London and else
where, they had resided near town on the
sea-coast, in one Of the prettiest parts of Eng
| land.
| Independently of the natural kindness which
very rarely fails to be shown towards any person
who is blind, there was that about both the wild
ow and her son which invariably rendered them
acceptable guests for their intellectual resources
and powers of conversation were equally diversi-
fed and uncommon Mrs. Oowen had studied
much in order to teach her son, and thus, by i'm
proving her natural abilities, had become per-
son of no common stsmp-her intellectually
however, being always subservient to, and ftly
shadowed by, the superior feminine attributes of
love, gentleness and sympathy; for heaven help
the woman in whom these gifts are not pre-
dominant any mental endowments whatso-
ever
When they walked out together, his mother
took his arm. He proud of that, for he liked
to fancy he some support to her and many
pitying eyes used latterly to follow the figure Of
the widow in the black dress she constantly wore,
and the tall, pale whom she leaned conf
dinghy as if striving with a sweet deception to
convince him that he was indeed the staff of her
declining strength. But gradually the mothers
form grew bent, her steps dragged wearily along,
and the expres,io of her face indicated increas-
before long she was too feeble to leave her bed,
except to be carried to a summer parlOr. where
she lay upon a sofa beside an open window, with
flowers twinin2 round the easement, and the
warm sunshine filling all things with joy, save
her foreODding heart and the anxious son who
necessarily hovered over her. Friends often came
to visit them, and turned away with deep sad
Dess as they noted the progress of her malady,
and heard the blind man ask each time whether
they did not think her better-oh surely little
better than when they had last beheld her.
Among all these no friend was so welcome or
brought such solace to the sick room as MarT
Parker, Joyous girl of nineteen, one of the beau
ties Of the county, and the admiration and de-
i ght of all who knew her. Mr.. Owen had danced
Mary upon her knee, and Edward used to weave
baskets and make garlands for her, when he was
a boy of twelve, and she a little fairy of six
years old or thereabouts, stood beside him, prais-
ing his Skill and wondering how he could man
age so cleverly, though blind. None of his
childish companions ever led him so carefully as
Mary, or seemed much impressed with his
mental superiority. She would leave those games
of her playmates in which his blindness prevent
ed him from Joining. and would listen for hours
to the stories with which his memory was well
store /. Or which his own imagination enabled
him to invent
As she grew up, there no change IL the
frank and confidiug nature of their intercourse
Mary still made him the recipient of her girlish
secrets. and plans, and dreams, just she had
done of her little griefs and joys in childhood
asked him to quote his favorite passages of poe
try. or stationed herself near him at the piano,
suggesting subjects for him to play, which he
extemporised at her bidding. Bright and bloom
ing as Mary was, the life of every party, beam
ing with animation and enjoyment, no attention
was capable of rendering her unmindful of him;
and she was often known to sit out several
dances in an evening, to talk to dear Edward
owen who would be sad if he thought himself
neglected
And now she daily visited the invalid-her
buoyant spirits tempered by sympathy for her
increasing sufferings but still diffusing such an
i md har
that gloom and dependency seemed to vanish at
her presence Edwards sghtless eyes al
ways raised to her bright face, as if he felt the
magic influence it impaired
His mother had noticed all this with mothers
watchfulness; and, on that day, when, strong in
her love, she had undertaken to break to him the
fact which all others shrank from communcat-
ing, she spoke likewise of Mary, and of the vague
wild hope she had always cherished of one day
seeing her his wife.
"No. mother, nor' exclaimed the blind man
dearest mother, in this you not true to
| yourselfl What Would you wish to see her
in her spring-time of youth and beauty sacrificed
| to such a one as ito see Mary, you have
described her to me, as my soul tells me she Is,
| tied down to be-the guide, and leader, and sup
port of one who could not make one step in her
defence; whose helplessness alone, would be his
means of sheltering and protecting her! Would
you ear her pitied-our bright Mary pitied-
| as blind mans wife, mother ?"
..But Edward-if she loves you, as / am sure
| she does"
"Love me- mother! Yes, as angels love NOR
tails, as a sister loves brother, you love nee
And for this benignant love, this tender sympa-
Il L co-,Id kneeI and kiss the errnnnd she treadS