Liberty advocate. [volume] (Liberty, Miss.) 1835-1866, 1838-01-27
LIBERTY, (ML) SATURDAY, JANUARY y, 1888.

entreaties--vainly Helen in deep penitence
forced herselfinto his presence. lie stern
ly pushed her from his door, and forbade
her ever TO call him parent.
Years had rolled away, and time had
sprink)ed his ashes on my brow. Again
the mild autumn sunshine was laying in
yellow light on the hill sides, and again
the waves were joyously flashing in the
sunbeams, but they were not the limpd
waves of the Potomac, Oh, NJ | was far
away from the home of my birth, and
strangers had become my friendA | had
grown weary of work and was strolllng
hon the banks of the Muskingum, and my
thoughts had taken that listless mood when
4 ley wander over a thousand subjects
without analysing one. ] PASSED several
mean-looking houses without noticing
their inhabitants, when an exclamation,
accompanied by name, aroused my atten-
ton, and very feeble looking woman,
with an infant in her arms, came to the
door of house and looked after me- |
turned, for an indefnable feeling of pity
for the fragile creature before me, and of
curiosity to see who. thus recognized me
by name had rarely heard spoken for
years, the name of my grhood caused
me to stop, butt could not recognize any
known face in the one before me.
"You do not remember me them" she
said, coloring deeply.
81 do not"
"Helen - was my name"
Her story flashed over my memory in Il
moment.
"Helen! is it possible; how do you do?"
She burst into tears, and followed her
into her house.
81 have often seen YOU" she said, after
recovering some degree of composure, II
have often wished TO speak to you, but my
heart always failed me-"
81 am sure, Helen,"l began.
ooh! know you are good and not proud
like some people, but somehow | was al
ways ashamed"
$50 long as we act virtuously, Helen,
we need not feel shame, we of the 'old do
minion,' especially,"I added smiingly.-
She sighed, looked up into my eyes with
an earnest gaze, and her lip quiyered as
she said
''lf could die at home"
could not stand her look; | wrung
her hand, and rushed into the open AIR.
Now, If | could prevail on her father to
forgive her, to take her home, should
be so happy, | thought. | was always ar
dent--perhaps what the world calls ro-
mantle, and resolved TO try. Her father
in his youth had been volunteer soldier
under my fathers command: and !, as his
child, had ever been treated by the old
man with the utmost Difference. My
heart was deeply touched, and | wrote
warmly, and ere | had that night gone to
bed, my appeal in behalf of his widowed
his dying child, was on its way to her ia
Their.
Subsequently, learned she had suffer
ed much-had been for years forsaken by
her husband-had been driven by want to
link her fate to another who died and left
her pennyless, with several children
Under this last calamity her health entire
ly failed, and she was now but shadow
of herself.
A fortnight brought an answer to my
letter The old mans obstinacy yielded
to my entreaties. | had awakened the
voice Of nature, and ii plead
for the sufferer. He sent money TO con-
vey her home, and | gave full indulgence
TO my womanly feelings in purchasing for
Hecn's little ones comfortable clothing to
enable them respectable appearance;
and have never received more CRATE
ful kiss than poor Helen impressed on my
cheek when shook hands with her as she
stepped into the stage to 90 homc--the
home Of her innocent and happy child
hood.