The Democratic sentinel and Harrison County farmer. [volume] (Cadiz, Ohio) 1851-1852, 1851-06-18
ALST0N
OR,
THE STEP-MOTHER.
BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

The villagers of n well remember
the sad morning when the bell tolled for the
death of Emma, the once beautiful, lovely
and beloved wife of Judge Allston. Many
a face was shadowed, many heart was in
: mourningon that dey; for she who had gone
so early to rest, had endeared herself to
many by her goodness, gentleness and the
beauty of her bameless life. She had been
declining for long time, and yet she SEEM
ed to have died suddenly at last, so difficult,
so almost impossible it was for those who
loved her to prepare for that fearful bereave-
ment, that immeasurable loss.
Mrs. Allston left four chidren-Isabel, the
eldest, an Intellectual, generous hearted girl
of seventeen, not beautiful, but thoroughly
noble looking; Frank, fine boy Of twelve;
Emma, "the beauty child of seven, and
Eddie, the baby, adeheate infant, only about
a year old
Judge Allston was man ofnaturally strong
and quick feelings, but one who had acquir-
ed remarkable control over his expression,
a calmness and reserve of manner often mis-
taken for hauteur and insensibility. He was
alone with his wife when she died: Isabel,
wearied with long watching, had laid down
for little rest, and was sleeping with the
children; and the mother, even in that hour,
tenderly caring for them, would not that
they should be wakened. The last strug-
gle was brief but terrible; the spirit seemed
torn painfully from its human tenement
the immortal rent its way forth from impris-
Joning mortality. Yet he, the husband and
lover, preserved his calmness through all;
and when the last painful breath had been
Ipanted out on the still air of midnight, he laid
the dear head he had been supporting against
his breast gently down on the pillow, kissed
the cold, damp forehead and still lips of the
love of his youth, and then summoning an
attendant, turned away and sought his room,
where alone and in darkness he wrestled
with the angel Of sorrow-wept the swift
tears of his anguish, and lacerated his heart
with all the vain regrets and wild repFoaches
of bereaved affection. But with the coming
of morning came serenity and resignation;
and then he led his children into the silent
chamber where lay their mother, already clad
in the garments Of the grave There too he
was calm, holding the fainting Isabel in his
arms, and gently hushing the passionate out
cries of Emma and Frank He was never
seen to weep until the first earth fell upon
the coffin, and then he covered up his face
and sobbcd aloud.
Mrs. Allston was not laid in the village
q. church-yard, but was buried, at her own re
quest, within the arbor at the end of the gar
den. She said that it would not seem that
she was thrust out from her home if the
light from her own window shone out toward
her grave; and that she half believed the be-
loved voice of her husband, and the singing
of her daughter, and laughter of her chill
)dren would come to her. when she had hel
favorte flowers about her, and the birds she
had fed and protected building their nests
aboye heri the vines.
When the stunning weight of sorrow, its
first distraction and desolation had been ta-
ken from the life and spirit of Isabel Allston,
one clear and noble purpose took possession
of her mind. She would fill the place of hel
dear mother in the household-she would
console and care for her poor father-she
would loye yet more tenderly her young
brother and sister, and bind up ther bruised
would be mother to the babe, which hat
been its first resting place, grown cold agains
its little cheek, and hard andinsepsible to its
"waxen touches. now that the voice which
had hus he'd it to its first slumbers had sunl
low and faltered and grown still forever, and
the kind eyes which shone over its awaken
I ing-the stars of loves heaven-had sudden
{ ly darkoned and gone out in death.
| After this it was indeed beautiful to sec
4 Isabel in her home. There she seemed
f to live many lives in one. She superintendeC
all domestic affairs and household arrange
ments with admirable courage and Judgment
Her father never missed any of his accustom
ed comforts, and her brother and sister were
as ever neatly dressed, and well taught anC
; controlled. But on the baby she lavishet
: most of her attention and loving care. She
r took him to her own room-she dressed, ant
7 bathed, and fed him, and carried him Will
her in all her walks and r idcs. And she
| was soon richly rewarded by seeing LITTLE
/ Eddie become, from an exceedingly small
l fragile infant, awell sized, blooming boy, no
STOUT Or remarkably vigorous indeed; bu
t quite healthful and active. The child was
: passionately fond of his mamma" as hC
; was taught to call Isabel. Though rather
i imperious and rebellious towards others, he
g yielded to word from her at any time. A
! evening she would summon him from hi.
& widest play to prepare him for his bath and
t bed, and afterwards he would twine his little
t arms about her neck, and cover her cheeks
r lips and forehead with good night kisses
t and then droop his sunny head on her shoul
: der and fall asleep, often with one of hel
glossy ringlets twined about his small rosy
r fingers. At the very break of day the littl!
8 fellow would be awake, striding over poor Is
S abel, as she vainly strove for one hours brie
delicious doze, pulling her long black eye
lashes, and peeping under the drowsy lids
Y or shouting into her half dreaming ear his
] vocifer9qs fgood morning!'
And Frank and Emma found ever in theil
sister-mother ready sympathy, patient sweet
ness, and affectionate' COUNSEL
!, They were never left to feel the crushing
9 neglect, the loneliness, the desalation of or.
j phantage; and they were happy and affec.
tionate in return for all dear Isabel's good.
t ness and faithfulness. Yet were they nev.
' er taught to forget their mother, gone from
: them---neither to speak of her always with
S sorrow and solemnity. Her name was otter
. lon their young lips, and her name kept
i lgreen and glowing on their tender hearts
lHer grave in the garden arbor-what dear