The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1863-04-24

"You don't love my mother" said little
Ellen Crosby, slowly rctrcating from her ia.
ther, with her hands behind her, and her
lips quivering as she spoke.
"what do you mean. pet?" he exclaimed
springing after her, and drawing her resist
ing form towards him "that is very
strange thing for little gi'l to say; what
) uus into, your bead that father dou.s love
~ - A8t nSnusd shoof1ias sbAck'her
soft hair from her white forehead and looking
earnestly into her downcast eyes.
"Because when mamma went away from
the table you spoke cross, and said she was
always sick, and she has got headache, y
added the child earnestly, while the tears
trickled down her cheeks. al have been
sitting beside her all the afternoon. and rub
bing her forehead; and she is sick and tired
very often. and you never tell her you are
sorry, nor kiss her as you do me-"
Charles Crosby drew his little girl closer
10 his bosom. Her artless words had fallen
like FIRE upon his heart. He felt instantly
that hc had spoken harshly more than once
to the gentle being who had never given him
an unkind word. Seven years of his welded
life had passed calmly and neetly. Being
young and a most impulsiyc creature when
ho married. hc could hardly appreciate the
deep. holy love, which his sweet bride treas
ured for him and him only. After the ro-
nance of the affair, as it seemed to him, had
settled into q quiet, perhaps monotNnous
reality, his restless spirit ycarncd for some
fresh novelty. To work through the day,
to come home at night and spend the even
ing hours, by the side of his wife and inian,
child, whose beautiful face CLEANED like a
rosebud upon the white pillow in her little
wicker basket cradle, became tiresome to
him. He wished Ellen had moro yiyacity.
more brlliancy, forgetting that these might
accompany variablencss of temperament
that would truly have made his home un-
happy.
Ellen was a most excellent wife; hers was
that inward purity which stamps upon the
features loyelincss far beyond mere beauty;
nobody hcsitating to call her handsome; her
ways were winning. her form slight and fra
rilc: withal she had 50 much prudence and
was 81 good manager, that from the time
of his marriage, Charles Crosby had been
accumulating riches. But the needed afec'
ton and much care; she was delicate, and so
sensitive that word Of reproach from one
she esteemed would cause almost a serious
illness. The language OF her tull blue eyes,
rs they were sometimes fixed upon the noble
face Of her husband was, "loyc me: oh! how
yearn for your full, unrestrained love "
then they would fall to the floor, while the
consciousness that he was not towards her in
manners he had once been and oh, she fear
cd, not in heart--would send an icy thrill
through every fbrc Of her frame. OF late,
Charles Crosby had often become an alien to
his home, until the midnight hour. he had
found as he thought, choice and congenial
spirits. and with them "thc spirit Of wo'
that is "thc spirit Of wine." But alas his
fine manners were disappearing; his home
was not an earthly paradise to him now--he
had grown very worldly-indeed he knew
not the extent OF the change himself.
He worshipped his lovely child, and called
her by the sweet names Of "fairy," and
"pct," and darling" she was in truth such
an ono us few, very Few parents are blest
with child Of neither ordinary beauty or
intellect. and but for her mothers jodicious
care and teaching. her powerful mind might
lave too swiftly expanded, and quicker than