Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1845-04-25

anguish at the restitution which compelled me to
a toll for which was unequal; and how bitter
| y did he lament the protracted absence of that
friend of his mother, from whom he had anticpat-
ed so much assistance and sympathy.
eff Edward Temple were hut here" he would
exclaim, 81 am sure that for my mothers sake,
he would pity and relieve us %
edward Temple!" exclaimed the old gentle
man, suddenly starting from his seat. ANA Who'
for Gods sake tell me, was your husband'"
"Henry Temple Seton,'' answered the poor wo-
man. surprised and startled at the abruptness OF the
question.
"And was the maiden name of his mother Anne
liza Mansfed?" again demanded the questioner,
as his whole frame shaking with emotion, he con-
vulsyely grasped the back of his chair.
alt was" she again replied.
! "And did Henry Seton die, and here :" he once
more inquired, in voice so choked and husky, as
to be scarcely ineligible.
"He did, was again the short and mourntul re-
| ply.
'And can it be, said the old gentleman, sink
! ing back into his chair, while the tears rolled I'M
restrainedly down his cheeks ''can it be that the
child of the wealthy, the idolized Amelia, was
brought to this? Can ii be that while was wan
derRg through Europe almost without any OBJ
iect, recIlessy spending thousands that the son of
her whom would have guarded as the apple of
herey was dying of want and misery in home
| like this /? Oh, why was not here to save him'
''You are then Edward Temple? Thank Cod!
exclaimed the poor woman, starting from her seat,
and abruptly approaching him; but bitter recol-
lection seemed at the same moment to cross her
mind, for sudden paeness overspread her cOun-
tenance, as she turned away there was hopeless
despair in the words which fell in hoarse and I'M
natural tones from her lips. cit is too late! it is
| too late Oh, my husband, my dear Henry, you
are gone, and what ayails it now! What avails it
that the friend so long wished for has at length ar
rived, when the clods of the valley are lying heav
lily on his bosOm!" and, throwing her arms over
the table by which she had been seated, she bowed
her head upon them, and her groans and conyu-
sive sobs shook her whole frame.
Mr.. Temple, for it was indeed he, approached
the weeping woman, and laying his hand kindly on
her shoulder, =" Do not weep SO bitterly" said he;
" 1t is indeed too late for him who is gone ,and who
was so dear you, but it is not too late for your
self and your young orphans. Look up, my dear
Mrs. Seton, and be comforted. You shall see
better days"
Soothed by the Kindness of the benevolent old
man, Mrs. Seton gradually resumed her camness.
"Oh if he could but have lived to see this
hour" she exclaimed g how his heart would have
blessed you, and how happy should have been!
But God wiIled 1t otherwise, and will try to be
resigned"
"Ah, we cannot have every thing to suit our
Selves" answered Mr. Temple with a sigh; 81
believe it would have made my old heart too bes-
sed to have become father to the child of my A
melIa; | will call her mine, for we were brought
up together, and well and truly did we love each
other And though at last she chose another for
her husband instead of me, yet | could never find
l in my heart to love her the less dearly. Ah it
was sad disappointment, and have never allow
ed myself 10 love another human being since But
, that time is past, and these little ones who would
have been so tendery cherished by her, shall be
dearly and fOndly cherished by me also. Come
G here, my children" he continued " and let me
, see if can trace her we'll remembered likeness in
any OF your young faces"
He held out his hand towards them, and the
TWO children who sat mute and fearful spectators
of the passing scene, tmdy approached lie
gently laid his hands apon their heads, and as he
gaz'd long and silently upon them, many youthful
: and long buried memory came back upon his heart
while unheeded tears trickled slowly down his
furroWed cheeks. " Yes, said he at length, ten
derby stroking the bright head Of the eldest, eyes
} here are the same soft ringets, and the same mild
and pensve blue eyes that SO went to my heart
! when was but boy. All, | have often seen
them in my dreams, but never until now, since
last beheld Amelia, have such eyes looked upon
! me in my waking hours. | could almost fancy
, myself boy again, and this sweet chilli my early
playmate, What is her name? hope it is Ame-
liza; could not bare to hear her called by any 9th
er."
y L GS, IL IS htnelld3 duSNSTtu MIS-. DblOI,
! Henry always felt melancholy pleasure in cal
E ing her by the name of a mother, whom he loved
and mOurned with more than filial tenderness
= She was rare specimen Of mother, and Henry
5 could never forget her loss"
g He would not have deserved to be her son, il
!, he could have forgotten her." exclaimed Mr.
d Temple warmly and after pause, he musingly
y added: " And so he honored her memory as he
d should do, did he' wish the boy had lived till
Y any old eyes had been best with the sight of him
But there is no use in wishing back the dead. II
= is better to think how we may best discharge our
5 duty towards the living. And now let US have NO
: more saddening thoughts to-day: you shall finish
your melancholy tale some other time, but at pre-
= sent let US think rather how we shall dispose oil
j. these dear little ones, that their father and my
=, Amelia may look down from heaven aud smiIe.'
: Mrs. Seton strovo in vain to give utterance tC
! the feelings that were swelling at her heart, anC
MIR. Temple, observing her inability to speak, eX
+ claimed, " Leave it all to me, leave it all to me
. am an old man. and know better how to arrange
= these things than you do. But remember, cal
\ bear no contradiction in the matter; am used tt
d having every thing in my own way, and If you dc
e not want the sin OF breaking an old mans hear
lying your conscience, you will not oppose me
t But to the point; | have great, overgroWr
= house in Broadway, furnished from basement tC
attic like palace and no to look after it ant
+ see that it is taken proper care of. am an oil
bachelor, ana as know nothing about thest
: things, have to trust every thing to my housekeep
( err. | have wished thousand times that had
l. daughter to look after the poor, lonely old man
| and cheer his solitude, and govern his servants
q hut heaven never ordained so great blessing 70
3 me. Now, though you are not my daughter, yol
8 were the wife of Amelia's son, and that makes nj
y feel almost as if you were my own child. So
d without any more circumlocution, you must com
ii and live with me, and shall soon learn to believ
n that you are my daughter Your children will I'll
a up gap in my heart, that tho't never would b
TX filled again, and shall grow younger every tim
look back at them Do not hesitate, for N
d; heart is set upon your compliance.'
Id A thousand varying emotions were painted 0
ne the sweet expressive face Of Mrs. Seton, as wit
er faering voice she at last attempted TO repy;-
~ " feel all your great kindness, Mr. Temple; be
eve me, l feel it all. But how can think of bul
IT, dening you with myself and these three little chi
ed dren? No, it will be sufficient 10 win the graf
on tude OF my whole life if you adhere TO the fir
It's kind proposal to furnish me with constant empo,
lis ment; ran then support myself and little one