Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1850-1854, 1850-06-07

marrying his cousin Amy Bruce. She is tn
daughter OF my youngest sister, and had a pretty
| fortune at hand, enough to set John up in am
business he fancied. There was no reason il
the world why he should not like Amy hct
kept my wishes TO myself, because | knew tina
young folks love is like an Hnbroken colt, tina
will not mind spur or Bit / never mistrusteC
that any thing was going wrong, till one day
heard the girls making great wonderment abou
a canary bird that they found when they ven
in the morning into the workshop, in & cage
hanging over Lucy's seat and the1 | remem
bered that John had asked me for five dollars he
day before; and when asked what lie wanted
il for, he looked sheepish and made no answer
| thought it prudent before matters went any
further, to tell John my wishes about his cousin
Amy. My wishes, Fam, have always made
a law TO my children. To be sure, have taken
care, for the most, that they should be raasona-
bic. | am a little wlul, | own it; but it's
young folks business to mind; and children
obey your parents, is the law both Of scripture
and of nature. So | told John. | did not hint
any suspicious about Lucy; but told him this
marriage with his cousin he could have no obiec-
ton to, that ne must setabout without delay on
peril of my dispeasure. He was silent. and
looked doWncast, bat saw that was determined.
and believed he would not disobey me- A
few evenings after, saw light in the work.
shop after the usual time. | went to inquire
into 1t. | had on my slippers, and my steps
made little or no sound. The upper part of the
door wss set with glass | saw Lucy finishing
of pair of gloves, my son standing by her 1t
appears that they were for him, and he insisted
upon her trying them on his hand Hers, poor
thing, seemed TO tremble. The glove would not
go on, bat it came off, and their hands met with
out gloves, and nice fit they were burst in
upon them | asked John if this was his ODE
dience to me, and | told Lucy to quit my service
Immediately. Now the whole matter is past,
must do John the justice to say, he stood by her
like man. He had given his heart and prom
Isod his hand to Lucy, and she owned she loved
hlm-he who was not worthy of her love. He
said, too, something about my being kind faith
er, and kind man and he would not believe
that the first case Of my doing wrong would
be TO the orphan girl whom Providence had
placed under our roof. Ma'am, you will won
der that hardened my heart to all this but you
know that anger is a short madness, and so it is;
and besides, there is nothing that makes us so
deaf to reason and true feeling, as the strong
sense that we are wilfuly doing wrong was
harsh, and John lost his temper, and poor Lucy
cried, and was too frightened to speak 1t ended
by my telling Lucy she should not stay another
day in my house and John, that if he did not
obey me, my curse should be upon him.
The next morning, they had both cleared ont,
aud every body thought they had gone off to get
married, and so believed till night, when John
came in like distracted man, and said he had
been all day seeking Lucy in vain-that the
only friend she had in the city knew nothing of
her: and when | nsWered, So muchs the bet
ter he accused me ofcruelty, and then followed
high words, such as never should pass between
father and son; and it ended in my turning him
from my door, do not wonder you turn away;
but hear me. Saturday night, three days after
John came home an altered man. He was as
humble as ii he only had been wrong. He beg
ged pardon, and promised to obey mo in all
things but marrying Afny Bruce. ! give up
Lucy, father said he, but | cannot marry any
body else forgave him-from the bottom OF
my heart forgavc him, and tongcd to ask him
to forgive me but have not come to that yet.
| asked him what had brought him back to duty.
He put into my hands letter he had received
from Lucy. She had persevered in not seeing
him; but such letter, ladies' If ministers
could speak so to the heart, there would be no
sin in the world. She said she had deserved to
suffer for carrying matters so Car without my
knowledge. She spoke of me as the kindest Of
fathers, and the kindest of masters Then she
spoke of The duty a child owed parent-said
she should never have any peace of mind till she
heard we were reconcied; and told him it would
be in vain .or him to seek her, for she had sol
EMMY resolved never to sec him again. The pa
per was bistered with tears from the top to the
bottom; but saving and excepting that, maam,
there was nothing from which you could guess
what 1t cost her TO write the letter."
could not stand it; my heart melted within
me. found her that very night, and without
loss If time brought her back to my house,
And there no added, walking hastily to the far
Their end of the shop, and throwing open a door
that led into back parlor-"thoro, ma'am, is the
long and short of it." There was one of the
most touching scenes of human life. My pretty,
dutiful friend became a wife and mother-her
infant in her arms, and her husband sitting be-
side her. watching the first limitations of intelIi-
gence and love in its bright little face. Such
should be the summer of happiness, when the
spring is consecratcd to Vi tue.