Ypsilanti sentinel. [volume] (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw Co., Mich.) 1843-1900, 1848-02-16

her eye was With her mother. She saw those
aged limbs float out on the wave, and that gray
hair tossing like sea-weed in the surf. She saw
the cruel wave pass over her-she saw for a
moment, her white calm face, as she was borne
up on the succeeding billow, turned full upon
her-she saw her dimmed eyes open, and oh !
God amid the sea and the storm, the daughter
caught the last look of affectionate recognition
from a dy ing mother But Mary knew it not;
still stood she, statue-like, watching with wild
intensity the receding form of her last parent
the only change of attitude and expression was
the swelling and falling of the chest, and the
cleaning and fading of the eye, as her moth
er's form appeared and disappeared in the tumb-
ling waters. Nearer, still nearer the firm earth
the white surf covers her-a rush of stalwart
men-they are bearing her up the beach ! "She
is safe !-she is safe p and with eyes thrown
he~aven-ward, Mary falls fainting. But the old
sailor was by her side-she felt not the rushing
of the waters as she too was borne to the shore
and when she next awoke to consciousness, she
was stretched beneath a sheltering cliff, and be-
side, oh, joy, her mother !!-oh, despair, her dead
mother
Not a wall, not a tear, not a sigh, betrayed
the agony of that broken hearted girl, as vain
ly and still hopelessly she strove to recall that
departed spirit. They came around her, the
kind hearted strangers, yet she saw them not !;
and the mute s~aviours, yet she needed not their
caressings but with her mothers head against
her breast, she sat amid the sands, buried in her
deep, deep woe.
At length, when with tears streaming down
their weather beaten cheeks, those friendly stran
, gers would take her from her ~lifeless mother,
Mary seemed to arouse. They told her she must
GO with them many miles, to find a shelter; that
| night and a severer tempest were coming on,
and that she must leave her dead unburied. She
pressed her hands around her throbbing brow,
and while her sad blue eye rested a moment up
on them, she gently waved them to depart, say
ing calmly, 81 will follow" And they left her
IA kind fisherman bearing her little nephew in
his arms-and she was alone, alone with the
dead.
-mpress!ng one long kiss upon that icy brow
Mary Conway rose up quietly, and going We
4 further from the sea, dug with her own hands
= a grave 70, her mother in the sand. She ther
n bore thiht er, in her arms, as though it were /;
sleeping infant, the emaciated form, and laid i
down to its last slumber, took the kerchief from
i her own breast, spread it over the beloved face
an, tbon ,orof,1lr, roDloo.J AZ oozl CT IL
above that shallow grave, and with her cruel
fix presses to her lips, murmured a brief pray
er for the soul of the dep~arted-there, on tn
wild desert shore, with the oceans voice for
dirge and the tempest for a requiem. Thel
in that utter desolation of spirit which has n
, outward manifestation-that great agony, fear
full in Its fearless stiffness, she turned and meek
ly followed the footprints in the sand which toll
> where her shipwrecked companions had gon'
d before her. The unfortunates met sympath
e and kindness in the fshcrman's house, whic
they reached at last. and the next day Mar
y Conway and her nephew proceeded to the near
q est town, where she sought and found employ
ment for them both, intending to seek her broth
= oS SOOh 40 SDN Ao oih GuASiChS W pa
her travelling expenses. All her money and pa
, pers had been lost at the time of tho wreck, an
most unfortunately the shock of that disaste
= and her succeeding Affections, had driven frol
he her mind all recollection of her brothers plac
of residence. She but remembered that it wa
somewhere in the State of New York, and sh
~ finally resolved to 90 at once to the city of Ne
ar York, where she hoped to hear of the place sf
III wished to find. At last she reached that grea
h metropolis, still accompanied by her young nj
e, phew, for her widowed sister, when dying, ha
Id given him to her, and she was ever faithful
- the holy trust. She soon procured a situate
IN for herself and little charge, in a boarding hou:
es where she remained about a month, still unab
brother had directed her. But one day a strar
a ger arrived, and on his trunk being brought il
he to the hall, upon the card affixed to it, she re
to ognized with a cry of delight, that lost, tn
blessed word The next morning saw her al
- little Alick on the deck of one of the Hudsc
of steamers, waving adieu to the few friends tn
had followed them to the wharf. At Alban
Mary took passage on a canal-boat, and trave
ed many hundred miles westward, and Away
ed and every where, though attractive in appea
to ance, and so unskilled in the ways of the wor
ad and utterly defenceless, she met but kindness
al friendliness. There was about her the sacre
d. ness OF sorrow-the impress of suffering on h
ne brow, and the tearfulness of her downcast ey
hit were eloquent, though mute appeals to the ge
10 erous American heart. She reached S.
ry last, and was ~clasped, half fainting, in her brot
Mt ers arms. Oh, who could measure bis JOY !
rs He had heard of the wreck of the vessel, al