Vandalia Whig and Illinois intelligencer. [volume] (Vandalia, Ill.) 1832-183?, 1832-10-10


have de aimed it fiomyou7 d. YOU suppose that
he would have suffered such blow to fall upon
y u, if one chance. however remote, had existed
of wardlng it off? Sophia, as l hope for mercy
lit is true! he has confessed it al.''
"Then iather," said Sophia, rising from her
seat, and with firm, calm, fixed countenance
and fearless eye, laying the letter on the table
''then father, the die is cast--al is over between
him aud me-"
Her voice was clear and distinct as if she had
uttered words of every day import She
paused an instant, then deliberately drew from
her finger the ring-the pledge of her engage
ment t. William Talbot-which had never left
that finger since he had placed it there with a
finn hand undd the ribbon which supported round
her neck the locket he had given her, containing
his hair, and placing them beside the letter, said,
| in the same clear, calm voice-"Therei return
them to him."
| Her father clasped her in his arms-"My dar-
| ling! my darling! this is what expected from
you. Yes, you are your saihted mothers own
daughter
| He had struck the chord Before the mighty
food of awakened passion, all the barriers that
vrtuous pride and insulted affection had raised to
stem its force, were evelled in an instant Burst
ing from her fathers arms with shrek of agony
the unfortunate girl flung herself on The ground,
and utering,,th words-"My Wonderfully MOS
Their! Oh that l had died with her!"--fell into
the most violent Mysteries.
That event renders the preceding night the
first crisis of Sophia's life Years passed on, but
her affections survive all trials of worldly mock
cry and temptation. At last she marries, in
helpless obedience to custom, but her heart goes
not with her hand. The second night is that
which precedes her marriage. The scene of that
evening is SO touching that we shall try to make
room for part of it.
at was about three in the afternoon that the
young mistress of Wodsley Hall left tie house
with its lltimed sights and sounds of che.rluness
and took her way rapidly down winding path.
that led through the pleasures grounds to pcur-
esqne cottage, the retreat selected by Nh. Wal
Isingham for The old age of faithful attendant and
|early friend, 10 whom Sophia wished to pay a
farewell visit. This woman had been her fathers
nurse, and for years privileged inmate of the
Hail; and when her advancing infrmities made
her DESTROYS to reinquish its hustle for quieter
haoitation she had been placed there, with an af-
iectonate granddaughter to attend her, and suhi-
centy near the family of her beloved master, to
ensure their constant visits at her peaceful dwell
ling.
On Sophia's entrance to the cottage, she found
the placid Did woman seated on her easy chair by
the nazlag hearth, employed in her usual knit
ting, her lively little grand daughter bustling
about in her various household occupations, and
The old avorite cat asleep by the fire at her feet
The whole domestic scene wore the aspect of con-
tented and peaceful monotony, of the repose of
happy old age, and called forth bitter sigh from
the fair and gifted being who would, at that mo-
nent, have gladly exchanged youth, beauty,
wealth, and talent, for the heartfelt calm, the
rest from ifes hustle and its thousand ills, which
we're now before her eyes.
As Sophia, after the first afecionate salutation,
drew seat by that Of nurse Wilton, while little
Kitty respectfully withdrew from the apartment,
a gush of feeling rose to her throat, and nearly
drowned her voice. Collecting it, however, by
strong effort, she said in low tone, 81 have not
a long time to stay, dear nurse, II am come to
bid you good bye" The tears filled her eyes as
she spoke, and she leant her head against the
OF the kind old woman
save, Miss Sophy, my only sweet darling, and
YOU are going away to leave us? Well, love,
God send you be happy, as happy as you deserves;
happier you can't be To think of my sweet
Miss Sephy leaving all her grand company up at
the Hall, to come down and say good bye to her
poor old nurse! VIII they not wonder what is
become Of you, daring?"
mo, no, nurse, they don't want me: and
would rather be with you than with them. II
eouldn'i g without seeing you again. DON'T for
get me whel. l am away from you all, dear, dear
nurse, shall never forget you, or the happy times
when we were all children, and you used to be so
Forget you, my darling! How could l for-
gel you? Aye, it will be dull enough when
haven't sight of your sweet face coming every
day to see me. And poor dear Miss Lucy! she
will be so lonely without you. To think what
changes one lives to see! Deary me, when l
look back and remember you all such tiny little
ones, and your dear mama, and sweet master Ar
thur, and now--Aye, aye, tits a great change
surely.'
She was interrupted by an agonized burst of
weeping from Sophia, whose tears, already trem-
bling in her eyes, no longer brooked control, but,
at the mention OF her mother, at the name of Ar
thur, and, alas! tbs recollection of all with which
that name was linked, flowed forth in torrents thai
brought dreary relief to the overlooking heart
which prompted them. "Let me cry, nurse; let
me cry" she said. as the kind-hearted old woman
endeavored, with many caresses, to comfort and
compose her; 81. is such relief" And she wept
on the faithful bosom that had often soothed her
infant sorrows into peace.
"Oh! Miss Sophy, my own darling" said, in
a low voice her humble Int affectiOnate com.