Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1843-02-03

StanhOpe. That name-how It thrilled TO
my soul 1t was my mothers name, and
one which had ever been dear to my heart
] longed to behold the stranger, and my
wish was not long ungratifed. Never did
my eyes rest upon a more noble looking old
man. His long grey locks were parted from
his high and venerable forehead, and hung
gracefully down upon his shoulders while
his soft, dark eyes still retained much of the
sprightliness and vigor youth There was
something in his whole appearance irrcsista-
bly, attractive. ] soon perceived that he had
/ fixed his eyes upon me with a penetrating
look, and felt uneasy beneath his search
ing glance. At length he approached me,
and made some casual remarks which led to
a familiar conversation.
He inquired from whence had come. and
when learning that ! was native of the
United States, his interest seemed TO in
crease.
Pardon me- said he, but ! have reasons
for this apparent inquisitiyeness. would
learn the name of my young friend
My name, sir is Ben,ly--Henry Bently.'
'Bently Henry" exclaimed he--'for
Heavens sake tell me the name of your
mother
Her maiden name, Mary Stanhope,' /
replied, scarcely less affected than himself
DO you know aught of her parentage p
had she brother P--he demanded, in
breathess haste.
She was disowned by her father for low
ing and marrying a poor but respectable
man, and though child when my sainted
mother died. well remember often hear
ing her speak of her dear and only brother
Henry, whose name bear, and whom she
often said resembled.'
Enough It's he tits HIMSELF exclaim-
ed the old man in transport and throw
ing his arms about my neck, he wept like
an infant upon my bosom.
Il am that brother = he said, 4 am your
uncle OH how have prayed for this
day, and Heaven has at length heard my
cry, and brought to these old arms the son
Of my angel sister. You will never leave
me promise that you will not-that You
will be my son-that you will close my aged
eyes in death, and | will pray heaven to bless
yon.'
i was deeply affected, and my tears min
gled with his. was happy-far happier
than thought | could ever be while separ-
ated from you, dear Clara. / had found a
friend in This land of strangers; and such a
friend l returned my dear uncle's em-
brace, and promised to devote my days TO
his service, and be TO him SON
4 will pass over four years spent in Wis
iting different aud distant countries, in com
pany with my uncle. lie told me much
concerning my departed mother, of which
was before ignorant lie was from home at
n a. a. r. l. -.
rage, and knew not Of the event or its dread
full consequences until some months after it
took place, on his return home His IA
Their told him the circumstances, and then for
babe all further mention Of the subject
Thus was he compelled to lament in secret
the misfortune of his beloved sister, without
being able in the least degree, 10 mitigate
her suiierings, not knowing whittier she had
gone, or in what part of the country she re-
sided. Several years passed away, and no
iIdings reached him concerning her, when
at the death of his father, he determined to
seek and find his beloved Mary, if possible,
and share with her the abundant wealth he
inherited. He travelled the country far
and near, but could only learn that such per-
sons as Mr.. and Mrs. Bently had existed,
and that they had both died, leaving an on
y son, who had been sent TO friend in
distant part of the country. He was Thus
obliged 10 give up the search, praying Hcav-
en-, that if that son was yet alive, he might
one day behold him.
| had been with my uncle five years, when,
in Italy, and Just as we were about starting
for the East Indies, where he had some bu-
slness to arrange previous TO our starting for
the United States, he was suddenly attacked
by violent disease, which baiiled all skill :;
and in few days he died in my arms. He
exacted from me promise, in his last hours,
TO bear his name and that of my mother
Then, beneath ltaly's serene skies buried
him, and the tears which shed over his
grave were but weak expressions of my sor-
row at his loss fastened to the Indies,
when having settled affairs, impatiently set
sail for my own dear native land, bearing
alike the wealth and name Of my lamented
relative
Il have but little more to add, dear Clara
| started, Immediately after landing, for the
home OF her whom absence had served to
make still dearer to this heart. My first inn
pulse was to rush into your presence and
throw myself at your feet but a thought
struck me, aud determined to try an ex-
pertinent. had never heard from you
since my departure, aud was ignorant even
of your existence. | could not, my Clara,
doubt your consistency, nor believe that you
had broken your VOWS; but determined
upon surprising you. | knew my appear
ance was greatly changed, and could hardly
hope to be recognized at first. The rest
you know | found you still the same. /
was pleasing witness of your embarrass-
ment on FIRST beholding Stanhope, and felt