HUNTINGDON JOURNAL.
Irnote No. 196.1
TERMS
OF TON
FIVNTINCMON .TO'O7.IIA.L.
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be continued, it will be kept in till ordced
out, and charge accordingly.
To the Public.
THE public arc hereby inform.d, that
JACOB MILLER ;has been appointed agent
for Huntingdon county, fur the wile of Dr,
Evans' Camomile and family apo icnt pills,
. •
irheee all those that nerd medicine, can be
supplied as he intends always to have a sup
ply unhand.
WE AND HE ALT IL—Persons whose .
aia nerves have I e in injured by Calomile,
or excessive grief, great loss-of blood, the sup
pression of accustomed discharges or cuta
aeons, intemperate habits, or other causes
which tend to relax and enervate the ner-
von system, will find a friend to soothe and
contort them, in EVANS' CAMOMILE
PILLS. Those afflicted with Epilepsy or
Falling Sickness, Palsy, Serious Apoplexy,
and organic affections of the heart, Nausea,
Winding, pains in the side, breast, limbs,
head, stomach or hack, will find themselves
imniediately relieved, by using
EVANS' CAMOMILE AND APERIENT
PILLS.
- I[ll‘. EVANS dOeS not Pretend to say that
his medichie will cure all diseases that flesh
and Mood ahe heir to,.but he does says that
in sll Debilitated and Impaired Constitutions
--in Nervotts diseases of all kinds, particular
ly of the I/IGESTIVE ORGANS, and in
Incipient Cdnsumption, whether of the lungs
Or Ivor., they will cure. That dreadful dis
ease. CONSUMPTION, Might have been
checked in its commencement, and disap
pointed its iirey all over the land, if the first
syniiitoms Nervous pehility had been
c.Miiteracted by the CAMOMILE FLOW
ER ,chentically prepared; together with many
other diseaies, where other remedies have
&rved tat:A:
How many persons do Vec daily find tortu
relt with that dreadbil disease, SICK
FADACHE, If they would only make
trial of tliit invaluable medicine, they would
perceive that life it a pleasure and nbt a
coUrce of thisery and abhorrence. In conclu
shin I would warn nervous persons against
the abstraction of BLOOD, either by leech
es, iCupping,lor the emPloyment of the lancet.
Drastic,purgatives hi delicate habits are al
most equally improper. Those ;are prac
tices toti often resorted tc In such cases, but
they seldom fail to prove Ihighly . itijttrions.
Certificates of cures are daily received which
add sufficient testimony of the great efficacy
of this invaluable medicine, in relieving af
flicted mankind. The above medicine is for
sale at Jacob Miller's store, Huntingdon
W .
Swayne's Compound SOup of Orli
• 'sus of Virginians or wild Cherry. '
This syrup is highly . beneficial in all pecto '
ral affections; also, in diseases of the chest
in which the lungs do not perform their
proper office from want of due nervous
energy: such as asthmas, pulmonary con
sumption, recent or chronic coughs, hoarse
toss, wheoping cough, wheezing and
fieulty of breathing, croup and spitting of
blood, Ate. lbw litany sufferers do we
daily behold apprdachin e , ,, to an untimely
grave, wrested in the hlodm of youth from
their dear relatives and friends, afflicted
with that common and destreciite rava
ger, called consumption, which soon warts
the miserable sufferer until they become
beyeiid ,the power of human skill; it such
sufferers would only make a trial of Dr.
Swayne's invaluable medicine, they would
soon find themselves benefitted; thati by
gulphing the various ineffective certain
remedies of which our newspapers daily
abound. This syrup immediately begins
to heal the ulcerated lungs, stopping pro
time night sweats, mititigating the distres
s* cough at the same time inducing a,
t heillthy awl natural expectoration, also re
hewing the shortness of breath and pain
in the chest, which harrase the sufferer on
the slightest exercise, and filially the hec
tic flash in the pallid and emaciated cheek
will soon begin to vanish, and the sufferer
will here peceive himself snatched from a
premature grave, into the enjoyment again
of comfortable health.
For sale at Jacob Miller's store Hunt.
EAD THIS!: DR. SW AYNE'S COM—
M./ POUND SYRUP of PRUNES VIR
GINIAN A, or WILD CHERRY: This is de
cidedly one of the hest remedies for Coughs
and Colds now in use: it allays irritation of
the Lungs, lo isms the cough, causing the
plops to raise free and easy; in Asthma,
Pulmonary Consumption, Recent or Chron
ic Coughs, Wheezing & Choking of Phlegm
Hoarseness, Difficulty of breathing, Croup,
Spitting of Blood, &c. 'lids Syrup is war-
ranted to effect a permanent cure, it taken
according to directions which accompany th e
bottles. For sale only at Jacob Miller's stors
Huntingdon.
THE GARLAND.
—"With sweetest flowers enricled
'tom various gardens cull'd wills care."
THE DRUNKARD.
I had a father—the grave is his bed:
I had a mother—she sleeps with the dead;
Freely I wept when they left me alune—
But I shed all my tears on • their grave and
their stone;
I planted a willow—l planted a yew,
And left them to sleep till the last trumpet
blew!
'ortune was mine, and I mounted her car—
'leasure from virtue had beckoned me far;
hiward 1 went, like an avalanche down,
And the sunshine of fortune was changed to
a frown,
Fortune waA gone, and I took to my side,
A young, and lovely, and beautiful bride!
Her I soon treated with coldness and scorn,
Tarrying back till the break of the morn;
Slighting her kindness & mocking her fears:
Casting a blight on her tenderest years;
Sad and neglected and weary I left her—
Sorrow and care of her reason bereft her—
Till like a star, when it falls from its pride,
She stink on the bosom of misery and died!
I had a child, and it grew like a vine—
Fair as the rose of Damascus was mine:
Fair-8c I watched o'er,lter innocent youth,
,As an angel from heaven would watch over
truth;
She grew like her mother, in feature & form;
Her blue eye was languid,her cheek too was
warm:
Seventeen summers had shone on her brow;
The seventeenth winter beheld her laid low
Yonder they sleep in their graves, side by
side,
A father mother—a tlauLllter—a bride
When they all left me I stood here alone—
None of my race or kindred wad known!
Friends all forsaken, and hope dll departed;
Sad and despairing, and desolate hearted.
Feeling no kindness for aught that was W-
I man— _
Hatecll} , man, and detested by woman—
Bankrupt in tortune, and ruined in name—
Onward 1 kept in the pathway of shame!
And till this hour since my father went
down,
My brow has but known a continual frown,
Go to your children and tell them the talc;
Tell Client his check, too, was lividly pale;
Tell theth his eye was all blood-shot & cold;
Tell them his purse was a stranger to gold;
Tell them he passed through the world they
arc ini
The victim of sorrow, and Misery; and sin;
Tell them when life's shameful conflicts
were past;
lit horror and anguish he perished at last.
Atlett rate:
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
The Loser's Talisman; or, the
Spirit Bride.
DT YRS. SEIM SMItII.
"Anna" said the young collegian, "you
are a noble girl—no die away airs, because
your lover is so long absent; no making
all the rest of your admirers feel, that
they are just the last persons in the world
that you care any thing about--no, no;
you are not so selfish as that, Anna."
A shadow passed over the face of the
fair girl, and the smile died away upon
her lips.
"Indeed, cousin, this might be a cutting
reproach; but you do not intend it as
such— I know you do not."
"Never," said the youth passionately ;
"I meant mill to commend my cousin's
sweetness of temper—her constancy
Anna raised her linger.
"I have issued my interdict upon that
score, cousin; but do you know I have a
'Talisman that will ensure ins the constan
cy of William—and it is of a kind, too,
that is valueless in case of fickleness upon
mypart !"
-Indeed ; initiate me into its mysteries,
Anna ; there are a pair of blue eyes, that
I should like amazingly to fix for me alone;
and when you are inni red, sweet coz, per
haps your-Talisman will he transferable."
"Aunt can describe its virtues best,
cousin George ; and if she will tell you
the story of Hannah Newton, you will
never he at a leas to understand the na
ture of the Lover's Talisman."
Mrs. 11. the aunt, raised her eyes from
her needle, and a faint sal le played over
"ONE COUNTRY, ONE CONSTITUTION, ONE DESTINY."
A. W. BENEDICT PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.
HUNTINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA, WEDNESDAY, JULY 24, 1839.
.her placid features.—She was an unmarn
ed lady of nearly fifty, dressed with great
simplicity, her gray hair neatly parted over
her forehead, which was still smooth and
fair. The plain muslin cap, with its fine
satin strings, denoted a member of the So
ciety of Friends.
" nee is very fond of that atoll, Anna ;
but thee must not rely too much upod the
power of the Talisman, as thee calls it ;
for ours is the constant sex, Anna, and we
remember long, it may be, alter %re ere fut.
gotten."
I observed a faint blush stole to her
check as she uttered this, and for the first
time 1 began to ask myself why Mrs. B.
(I use the English terns of Mrs. as applied
to ladies of a certain age, I think it dig.
stilled, and altogether proper,) with all her
sweetness of manner, and femitsi tie excel
lences, should still have remained, like
"the last rose of summer, left blooming
alone." 'But the tone of the voice, the
flitting blush, and more than all, the senti
ment she had expressed, revealed to one at
once a record of wasted affections, of lone
ly watching, and midnight tears--of the
bitterness of sorrow, known only to
who seeth in secret, and of that "conceal
ment, that preyed' like a worm in the bud"
Lpon the humais heart.
Mrs. It., from that time, became with
me an advocate for the whole sisterhood
of thoie who are to seek for a kindred spirit
amongst the pure essences of the invisible
world, instead of the grosser elements of
earth. She told the story with a grace
and pathos, that I dare not even hope to
transfer to my pages—l can only give the
details, leaving my readers to imagine the
many line touches of feeling and beauty,
which could be imparted only by the lips
of Mrs. 13.
THE STORY OF MRS. B.
Hannah Newton, at sixteen, was mere
ly a quiet, sweet-looking girl, with small
pretentious to beauty; for she had noth
ing of that regularity of feature, and bril
liancy of complexion, that are supposed
to be essential to it. She was neither a
a blond nor a brunette, but a mixture of
both—her eyes were neither black nor
blue ; they were, I believe, hazel, but
they owed much of their power to long
curved lashes that veiled their extreme
tenderness 'of expression, and made them
appear lunch darker than they really
were. 1 say this of Hannah in the early
part of her life, for at thirty she was called
beautiful by those to whom an elevated
expression of countenance, combined with
softness and grace of manners, constitute
beauty.
Her mother was a pale, gentle woman,
with large blue eyes, who had always been
an invalid, and whose delicacy of look and
demeanor contrasted strongly with the
rough, harsh manners of her husbantl.
Constant ill health had Made her winning
and dependent as a child; yet beneath all
this softness of exterior; she carried a fix
edness of principle, an elevation of mind,
and strength of purpose, that had their
full share of influence diver her stern, im
perious companion. Whatever might
have been his previous irritation of feeling,
no sooner did he enter the presence of hit
wife, than all traces of it disappeared,
even as if hie rigid brow had been swept
by the wing of his good angel.
Hannah had inherited all the fine wo
manly qualities of her mother, superad
ded to an excellent constitution, and a
dash of her father's energy of will.—lt
was well for her that it was so, for even
from a child the duties of a woman had
been exacted front her, and she was at
once sister and mother to the little group
about the domestic hearth. As she ap
preached maturity, she became the friend
and companion of her mother, the nurse
of her Bich room, and even the utterer of
her religious faith and devotion,
as physi
cal suffering sometimes dimmed the vivid
ness of exalted truths. At such times the
high-minded girl might be Seen kneeling
by the bedside, and with clasped hands,
pouring forth the simple, fervent prayer
of a young heart, deeply responding to the
blessed truths of revelation.
The mother pressed her to her bosom
with tears and blessings, for her progress
to the tomb was made a pleasant pilgrim.
age, while cheered and supported by such
a child.
At this time an addition was made to
the little family, in the person of a youth
of rare piety, and such powers of intellect
as to warrant the elders in settiio , aside
their ordinary rules for his benefit.—An
drew Horton was an orphan, left penny
less by his young parents, who both died
of an epidemic when he was scarcely a
year old; beryocathing this their only earth
ly gift, to the charity of the church. He
became, as it were, the property of the
church, and each individual of it claimed
a right for the discharge of kindly ollices
in belial fol . the little orphan. As he grew
up, lie was, evidently, not unworthy of
their solicitude. Ile was of rare modes
ty, deep piety, and such wonderful intel
lectual endowments, that all eyes turned
to him, as one destined to become a lea-
der in Israel, a burning and a shining light
in the temple of the Lord, Unusual care
was bestowed upon his education, as was
Meet for one who was hereafter to become
the expounder of the Word, and a voice
to the people of the Lord.
Friend Newton had now claimed his
privilege of entertaining, at least for one
year, the favored youth, while he should
prosecute his studt!s, and engage in those
acts of devotion and piety, which so much
engrossed his affections, and were so ap
propriate for one called to his high and ho
ly vocation.
_ _
Mrs. Newton listened to the lofty ut
terance of prayer from the lips of the pi
ous young man, with a new strength, and
felt her faith quickened, and her hoes
elevated, while she heard the truths other
religion explained and illustrated in his
clear, vigorous manner, with the slowing
language of his aspiring imagination and
fervency of spirit.
Hannah, always retiring, and occupied
with household matters, had little time
for converse with the youth ; but in the
' secrecy of her owu heart, she sat even at
his footstool, and imbibed not only the
' stores of wisdom from his lips, but the far
more dangerous lessons of youthful love.
Andrew Horton scarcely noticed the
quiet, unobtrusive maiden, so occupied
was he in his studies and devotions. But
when it became necessary for him to ac
dept the hospitality of another of the breth
ren, lie started to perceive how often the
image of Hannah mingled in his dreams
and obtruded upon his meditations. He
missed everywhere her sweet voice and
placid smile, and felt that she must hence
forth be to him what no other maiden ever
could become.
The affliction of the little family, occa
sioned by the increasin g illness of Mrs.
Newton, seemed to justify his frequent
visits, and Andrew Horton, more than
once, upon his return from the bedside of
the dying, threw himself upon his knees,
and besought forgiveness from the Father
of Spirits, that his visits should have been
rather the promptings of earthly attach
ment, than those of a high and holy sense
of duty.
All sterness end pride of orooohoo for
sook Friend Newton, as he stood by the
side of his dying wife.—lle threw himself
upon his knees, pressed her hands in his
own, and the tears streamed from the eyes
even of the strong man. Andrew Hcirton
was there, and his rich deep voice breath
ed the language of prayer. He ceased—
the soul of the sufferer had taken its flight
open the wings of his lofty aspirations;
the mystery of life had ceased in the cold
form before him.
Hannah arose with pale check, and ap
proached the bet caved husband.
'Go with me, my father.' she said, gently
putting her arm in his, while she pressed
her lips to his pale, damp brow. file old
man arose with the docility of a little
child, and she led him forth to an inner
room, where none might witness the ago
ny of that moment. When she placed
the large arm chair for him, and had ad
justed the cushions, he opened his arms
to his child, and she fell upon his bosom.
It was an unwonted tenderness, for Mr.
Newton had never expressed any thing
like it for any other being than his wife.
Now that she had left him, he yearned for
some heart to which he might reveal the
burden of hib sorrows.
"Thee has been a dtitiful child, though
I may never have told thee so before. It
always grieved, Hannah, that I expressed
so little tenderness for thee; but it wasn't
in me—l couldn't do it—but I love thee
just 'as well, child. And I might have
made thy mother a great deal happier, but
for my stern, hard ways. Oh, Hannah,
Hannah, the grave is the revealer of all
hearts. Ft hat would I not give to hear
her say once again that she forgives me !"
and the old man bowed his head upon the
bosom of his daughter, add wept like a lit
tle child.
Hannah had wept too, but sho felt that
she ought not to witness the humiliation
of her parent, and she raised her head
calmly—
.. Thee has ever been a good father td us
all, and my mother loved and blessed thee
to the last."
..Hannah, Hannah, I was unworthy of
thee !" His voice was choked by a gush
of tears.
Hannah turned to the Bible, and read a
part of the fourteenth chapter of John, "I
will not leave you comfortless, I will come
unto you; 'and gradually the anguish of her
father became soothed, and he pressed her
again to his heart, saying—
" Thy voice is like thy mother's, Han
nah, and thee will be to me all that a child
can be; and I will subdue my nature for
the sake of thee and the little ones."
Ile kept his word—from that day a gen.
tleness was infused into his manners, and
a tenderness of feeling hitherto unknown.
If occasionally his former spirit gained the
ascendency, he went alone to the cham
her that hud witnessed the suffering and
death of one so gentle, and when he re-
turned, it was as if her mantle had fallen
upon him.
Andrew Horton found himself the pu
pil, rather than the teacher of the noble
girl ; and his own zeal and piety were
' strengthened by his intercourse with her.
They had exchanged their pledges of fideli
ty, and Andrew was about to leave the vi
cinity to prosecute his mission in a dis-
tant field. It would be many years ere
he would return. llannnh, in the multi
city of household avocations, in atten
dance upon her sick-mother, in the exer
cise of her own religious views, to which
the silent worship of their sect afforded
ample encouragement, had imbided a lofty
enthusiasm, a shape of spiritual mysticism,
little in accordance with the practical
faith of her people. Ste had watched the
operations of her own mind, and compar
.
ea them with circumstances and events,
till she saw a mysterious connexion be
tween them, and even at times was led to
a floinCthing verging upon the spirit of
prophesy. She delighted to dwell upon
the inter-communication of mind w.th
mind, and the power which she believed it
had to influence a congenial spirit, even
though separated at ever so great a dis
tance. The mind was unsubjected to the
laws of the body; it traversed the fields
of space, and lived in the past as well as
the present. Even the future, under cer
tain circumstances and states of the mind,
she believed might be revealed to it.
Why then should not the intense thoughts
of the human mind, especially when di
rected to an object of attachment, Ao forth
•like winged messengers and work their
influence upon the distant and beloved ?
For this reason, the said, she would keep
her thoughts and imaginations pure, that
no emanation from her own mind should
mislead the conceptions of another; that
no unhallowed emotions should ever be
associated with her in the mind of those
she loved.
Andrew Horton listened to these mys- '
beat views of the lofty girl, until his own '
mind shared a portion of her enthusiasm
—if it were a weakness or error in Judg
ment, it was at the least a harmless one, '
—one that to them could only purify and
exalt, while it could never unsleritl :moth
cr. Therefore, he gave himself up to the
beautiful illusion, that established a per
petual intercourse between himself and
Hannah in the king period of absence.
"I do not ask," said Hannah, "wheth
er I shall be forgotten. You cannot for
get me, unless I cease first to think upon
you. For oh, Andrew, I can never for
get you ; and the emanation of my thoughs
will momentarily create an image of my.
self within your mind. Do you realize,
my friend, what it is to love one like me?
You can never forget me, even should you
desire it ; for my thoughts, fixed as they
will be upon you, will forever present an
intense image of myself to your mind.
You may cease to love, but you cannot
cease to think upon me. I hold the talis
than, that will ensure me this. But, oh
Andrew, when you shall desire to torget
me, think not I can temain ignorant of the
fact. No, never: While the attachment
is mutual, and the thoughts and memory
of each other pleasant to the mintl.;the
,emanations of each will conjoin, and
there will be pmodueed upon the fancy of
each, the most vivid conception of the oth
er—it will be as it a pleasant painting of
each should be presented to the eye: But
, Should the allectidris of either become cold
the image of that one will fade from the
vision of the other. He may retain the
iiiinory, but that vivid impression that
brings up the eloquent eye, the speaking
lip, and the very tones, and look of endear
ment, will grow Ices distinct, till it shall
fade altogether away. Now, Andrew,
this must be the case with you.- My im
age will be forever distinct to •you, for I
can never cease to think upon you. But
should your's fade from my mind's eye,
alas I shall know too well bow to inter
pret it."
Andrew Morton's brow contracted.
"Hannah, I did not expect this from
ther. Have I ever given thee cause for
distrust ?"
"Never, my friend," she said, laying'
her hand upon his; "but thee will have
many snares to encounter, Andrew.
Beautiful faces will look up to thee in thy
holy ministrations; timid maidens, who
will flatter more the pride of thy heart,
than ever Hannah could, will tremble and
weep at the fervor of thy eloquence, and
come to thee as to a spiritual guide,
Would it be surprising then, if vows to
one like me should be forgotten i"
The youth trembled under her search
ing, anxious glance ; but he drew the hand
to hisbosom and kissed the lofty brow of
the impassioned girl. hannah's head fell
upon his shoulder, and tears started from
her eyes.
.Hannah, thou Nast a lofty soul, awl
thy love is to me dearer than aught upon
earth. Do not distrust me, Hannah, I
shall have thy pray ers and thy blessings,
and that mystery ot inter-communication
of thy soul with mine, which of itself will
[ VoL. IV, No. 40.
he an amulet to preserve me from danger:
AU that is noble and pure in lifeis associa
ted with thee, and thou well knowest it is
in contemplations like these that I de
light."
— Two years passed away, and the smile
grew faint upon the lip of hannah. She
had taken the child, who was an infant at
her mother's death, upon her knee, and its
cheek rested upon her bosom.
"Hannah, dear, don't thee hattabtr
said the child, lifting its eyes to her lace.
"Humber, my dear—what does that
mean !"
The little one heaved a deep sigh.
"There, to the so, sister—that was a heat
her."
Hannah felt the tears spring to her ens.
"No, Georgy, I wont do so any more--
it is wrong. I must make thee feel quite
happy."
The child kissed her cheek many times,
and put his arms about her neck, calling
her a dear sister.
From that time Hannah went about her
daily avocations, with a strong purpose to
forget her own sorrows, in ministering to
the happiness of others.--The child had
taught her to feel the selfishness of con-
cealed sulTering, and she wrestled in pray
er for strength to sustain her under the
many trials of her lot. She felt a strong
internal conviction, that Andrew Horton
had ceased to regard her with his former
attachment. Impressed with this belief,
she wrote a letter in answer to one of his,
from which I shall extract a few sen
tences.
"Thy letters reach me with the same
punctuality as ever, and their language is
still tender; but, Andrew, the spirit is
wanting. It is as if the sentiments turn
ed to ice under thy pen. There should
be no disguise between us. Thee should
never attempt it with me, Andrew, for I
can divine all. • Thy image has almost fa
ded from my sight, and I know that thee
desires to forget me. Tho vows that bind
thee to me have become shackles. It
Would more become thy calling, Andrew,
if thee would tell me so at once; for de
ceit must be painful to thee. I absolve
thec from thy vows, my friend ; thou art
free to do as seemeth to thee good. I
will try even to forget thee, that my image
be nut troublesome, as I know it will be If
I continue to think . upon thee. My
thoughts, fixed on thee, will perpetually
create in thy mind an image of myself,
which I would not do, it thy affections
are fixed upon another.
"Farewell, my dear friend; I say this
fur the last time, and thee will forgive the
utterance. Do not distress thyself upon
my account. I was made for endurance
—it is a woman's destiny. I would for
give thee, if I had aught to forgive; but
the affections are not to be schooled like
wayward children. I cannot even now
believe they are transferable. Farewell
-and may thee be very, very happy."
In the reply of Andrew Horton, he
confessed alt. Hannah had indeed divi
ned the truth. Ile spoke of a sweet, gen
, tlegirl, whose Witchery had chased the
Wye of Hannah from his heart, But he
implored her forgiveness, he deprecated
his own fickleness of heart, and conju
red Hannah to forgive him, to forget
him, and be happy in some new attach
ment.
Hannah's proud lip curled in scorn, and
she laid the letter upon the coals of the
hearth. She went about her accustomed
duties with a new pride, a womanly spir
it of endurance, that knowing the worst,
hath nerved itself for the trial.
Ten years passed away, and Hannah
had become like unto Deborah, in the es
timation of her people: Her proud beau
ty, her fervent piety, and the burning
power with which she sometimes expoun
ded the truths of her religion, had raised
her up to be a leader amongst her people;,
little short of a prophetess, indeed, did
she seem to many, as she hold forth in the
congregation.
It was rumored that Andrew Horton
would return, and explain the scriptUres
once more in the place of his nativity.
Hannah took her seat early, amonst the
matrons--for time had abated nothing of
the interest with which she once regarded
him, although it had become modified by
the eircuthstances in which he was now
placed. Ten years had elapsed since the
reception of that last letter, yet Hannah
Newton felt her limbs tremble as she found
herself once more in the presence of And- -
raw Horton.
She raised her eyes, as a stranger sat
down upon the farm beside her. It was
the bride of Anth cwilorton—a
fair girl, whose eyes were fi xed upon - her
husband, through the whole exercises. as
if the only divinity she worshipped were
vested in the meanly form of the preacher.
I As the rich tones of his voice once more
broke upon llannah'e ear, and she eneoun
tend those deep, passionate eyes, she cies
, ed her own, for a new weight of misery
I seemed pressed upon her heart. Why
I had he returned, to do away at a glance.