Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1850-05-10

think this place at all events her lot IN lite must
have been cast among u.s. Many in this fair room
have taken her by the hand; for at every hearth
stone she was a welcome guest, rendered so by her
brilliant manners and engaging lovely disposition
Every loved Dora Hammersly, for she loved
rybody. She had been a widow nine years when
first made her acquaintance and a. more lovely Wo-
man, in every point of view it has never been my lot
| to meet with. 7ag,s&za rs rssssss
| / often wondered at her perversity in remaining
SINGLE when knew, with the world, that she hadit
largely in her power, not only to become inter-
esting wife, but most useful member OF society,"
She always parted my persuasions by saying that
she dreaded the dominion of step-father over her
only child sweet little girl of only ten summers
noticed at the tme despite her effort to conceal it,
that the poor woman immeasurably Wretched
She was net in love, for she woman of too fine
~ balanced mind ever to sit down and NOPE on an
unrequited passion Her beautiful, blameless life
had been passed among u.s. with the exception of the
five years of her married life, which had been spent
elsewhere. 1t was during brief visit she paid Mo-
bile, in 18-, while at her fathers house. she heard
of her husbands death. / never shall forget the
shock it occasioned me- more for Doras sake who
knew to be so ardently attached to him. Time heals
every wound, and knew, in the common course of
things she must have long since ceased to grieye for
her husbands death. SIS T.
The announcement at last that she was about to
leave Mobile forever and settle in the West filled
the large circle of her friends with the most unboun-
| ded establishment. What! leave the dear friends
in strange landfar from the scenes of her child
hood! Well might we all wonder. determined,
with my husbands permission to ask an explanation
OF this strange resolve She to perform her last
pilgrimage to the gr: e' of her parents, who were
inferred in the old ve-yard, head of Church street
IhIther we went together and after sauntering thro
the old arenasanon stopping to listen to the wind
as 1t swept in Eolian strains through the overhang
lng gloomy plnes-we reached at last an old broken
wall, and bidding her sit down by me, l took both
her nv mast
friendship and my present devotion to her interest
to frankly tell me the cause of her unhappiness.
~ am so glad you have touched upon this sub
ject,' she said hestatingy For, oh, know that
would be SO much happier if some beside my
self knew the terrible secret of my past life Yes"
she said, will tell you all, without reservation
but we must enter into solemn compact frstn
Anything in reason, Dora, and which it is in my
power to perform, will most willingly do'
viii you promise not to hate me o. she convul-
slVely sobbed. "Will you promise, by the sacred
dust of my PARENTS that you will still love me as you
have hitherto done %
II will still continue to leFe you, Dora, though
you had committed murder. There, now, will that
assurance satisfy you o.
She kissed me affectonatey, and begun the reci-
tai of her grief Mind, you promise not to inter-
rupt me,'' she said. You will remember she con-
tinued, shat was married early in life to one
whom I more than idolized, and went to Louisiana
to live 1t was during the last month of the five wears
after unhappiness sown. [ was young Emily,
and was too prone to put faith in all saw and heard
1t has only been through the last two years Of my
close intimacy with you, that have learned what
good wife should be- Oh, Emily, Emily, the precious
pearls that have cast from me and trampled in the
DUST because knew not their value Will you be-
lieve it, my friend that my husband is now alive
and the father of large family in one of the West
India Islands! 1t my fault" she continued, as
was about to interrupt her. Il listened to evil
counsel, Emily, and learned to distrust my husband
Yes, learned to distrus and at last to hate or at
least thought did, that husband who had always
lavished upon me every kindness, l never qnarroled
with him No. too innately proud for that ;
but allowed myself to brood upon my silent, grow
ing hate, and, OH there is no feeling ON this earth
that so nigh warps the brain to madness the hate
born of jealousy You know my frank open dispo-
sition Emily. So went to him, and with my mouth
in the dust, asked for separation. Oh, never did
the poor doom sacked victim of the Bosphorus beg
for life, for the blessed privilege of going from
his presence forever with our only child He tried
to reason with me, but was mad, Emily and have
been mad since. | asked for nothing but my child,
and plead with an earnestness which he saw it was
useless to resist. So Emily will pass to the
nouneement of my widowhood-when / went forth
to the world hypocrite in widows weeds My hus-
band wrote to three times during the first year of
separation, implorng me- by every precious tie,
to permit him. even by stealth, to look once on
the face of his child To every entreaty returned
a cold stern, hard answer, and for all this have
| dearly D1tten the dust SINCE The years sped on
which return more, and my child began to expand
into loneliness which was almost superhuman-
Strange as it may appear to you, again learned to
love my husband through his child. When she
spoke to it her fathers voice, every lneament
was his, and so loved my child that again loved
my husband through her Strange inconsistency
you may call this but it is nevertheless true knew
that he alive, for regularly every year have
ceived small provision for maintenance, thro'
unknown hands. This with the little patrimony re-
ceived from my father enabled me to live far from
enthusiastically afording many of the Injuries of
life You little know how have yearned to look
once more upon my husbands face Oh, Emily, |
thought if could but see him. all light be made up
was prepared to humble myself to the very dust,
that might be taken back to his heart once more
knew not where to direct letter to him, and
like poor condemned criminal, | dared not make
open inquiry; for in the eyes of the world was a
widow, and my poor child an orphan. So well have
played my part in hypocrisy, that no one has ever
dreamed of my husbands existence. e.r
Il 81 believe that knew, and loved you, too, for
nearly four years-and this brings me to widow
hood of nearly thirteen years. had almost outlyed
the hope of ever again seeing my husband, when
bout three weeks since received small note from
J him, announcing that he was in Mobile, and most
anxious to the child of his youth-that he would
call on the evening of that day. as an old friend
of the family, promising, under any circumstance
not to reveal himself to Ada Oh the hours of that
day were so 'leaden-paced I! At last he came with
seven o'clock | parted with my husband, a tall
slight figure with light blue eyes, and dark curling
hair-and shook hands with him, after lapse Of
thirteen years, perfect Indian in complexion, ar
enlarged robust figure eyes somewhat darker, and
his hair, instead of gray was as black as night ly
ing in thick masses of large manly crispy eurls-
Never would have recognised the husband of MI
youth In the ine-looking middle-aged man pre-
sented to my daughter the friend of her father