Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, Va. [W. Va.]) 1852-1859, 1852-09-17
NUMBER 20.
sELECTEDl.AzlE..,. Es3[ IS E.Azl f..

(coNcLuDED, FROM THURSDAYS INTELLIGENCER.
From ,Tfas:iie,, Tla Ii 5 5 Magaziine. g,ui .rEJ,
.AftSa ii ttksaEIEy--8f4 1i.-ssAAs ~
The Good Dame Bertha.
,ettl,S -..-------lssIl
.swildfs the sorrow and deep is the wai''
"Next day was told that the gentleman whom1
had seen in the bed had breathed his last; andthatI
was to depart Immediately with the grand ladytoa
new home, for that my mother was disgraced per-
son, and must never, mention her name again.
Theytold me that dJwas a gentleinan's daughter,
and thatifI behaved well should be taken care of
by his family, the lady whom had seen being my
aunt-my dead fathers own sister, All this Ills
tened to- and endeavoredito realize:e but whenI
heard them say that must forget my sweet, gentle
mother, and never so much as name her again, O..
| the wrath and fierce passion of that Inoment-chld-
lsh, impotent passion as it-was-1uelled even the
grave, stern lady, whom was to call Aunt Vain
were Ill their efforts to pacify my Indignation and
grief Iraved, ,.entreated, butt all unavailing;
and my aunt, the lady Beatrice. became severe, as
to rebellious captive, and treated me heneeforth
with severity and dignifed reserve.
! lGt, "Much to my, amazement was clad in deep
mourning garb--for whom, i was told. OnceI
fearedthey weredeceiving me, andthat my mother
was no more; but on asking if this were the case,
the Lady Beatrice said that She was alive-butit
would have been better for her had she died.
20" The new home to which was taken stood in
the midst Of fine large park, where huge oak trees
spread their branches far and wide groups of deer
reposing beneath the shade of chestnut and linden
avenues and, gliding past on the tranquil lake,
Stately swans gracefully bent their slender necks.
The immense chambers, 50 gloomily magnificent,
quite terrified me; how my poor breaking heart
lyearned foI glimpse of the sunny parlor in our
cottage by the mill And my mothers low, sweet
lullaby hushing my baby brother to sleep, was far
dearer and more melodious to me than all the SCI
entife instrumental music ofthe Lady Beatrice.
e The four succeeding years have always appear
ed to form part of some dark, dreary dream. / can
scarcely realise their actual reality My governess
was as severe and superb d personageH as Lady
Beatrice herself. II was tasket heavily from morn
ing till night; but could not learn, for my spirits
were broken and my mind was paralyzed. Not a
question dare Task concerning the fate of the we'll
being of the beloved ones from whom had been
SO cruelty parted for if Isyentured to aIlude to
any former associations, those around seemed aut
terly shocked at the fagrant opIety,. Unceas-
ing discipline was practised !; my yulgarisms were
hinted at and overheard Lady Beatrice say to
t.She must be made lady, for my dead :brothers
sake. But she is dreadfully stupid and obstinate
withal; and devoid Of affection and sens blity the
base blood overpowers that pure, noble curren;
which unhappily mingles in nheriNeins.r, However,
by fair means or foul, she must be broken in so as
not to disgrace us" .a.s -, ,,.,,,
iE GO, those long, bitter years Of my seemingly
hopeless captivity; when.l never heard the voice
of tenderness or commendation when yearned
for bosom on whichto weep, and Gould find none.
uStu W ulcdu Vi Jul plcdSdut UOluC Wy lue llfcl
side again was chilling the flowers On its banks
to make garands for my baby brother j; Il heard the
foaming waters of the mill dam, and woke, hear
lthe wailing winds among the ancient trees and TO
urged on with irksone tasks-the sole recIeaton
of the day being in walking UP and down the long
avenues with my governess, or in winter, paradng
the grayelled terrace tlength1 fell dangerously
i'll ; Lady Beatrice used to come and look at me
with the physician, but never aone-a sick cham
Der vas distasteful olher.lo n - nEdSftH'l ;I
" n nd mott horlv
was almost sinful enough to rejoice in my illness,
because it was SO soothing to have her near me.
She was common hired nurse from the village;
but she was mother, tender-heartedn and ptying.
To her confided my singular story, and all my
sorrows, asking if she thought my dear mamma
had forgotten me! When she answered "NO!'
how L IGhugged her, and sobbed in her arms
Through her means Wrote to my mother; nor did
tween US; but could the wreck I5beheld be my
young and lovely mother? Glad in Widows
weeds asecond time, for within a week after the
reception Of that t; hi hId miller
stWhat meeting was that between mother and
child in vain she had appealed for permission to
SCENE; in vain-her prayers were refused But
what had she done? What did all this mean?
Why was taken from my homes And, who was
the dying man had shrnnk from at the inn, where
I first beheld the Lady Beatrice? 70. 7Eti9e2f-
The disclosure was not made till afterwards, for
she feared to be parted from again; and little
else did we do than embrace and cling 70 each
other. s.+
q, t@Take me with you mother, / cried; ssleave
me not here to die-they will kill me-they sevile
rou and they are uIkind to me-! Are you not my
own Beloved mother, and who shall part us more?"
"Wildfy wept that dearest intellectually she
q .And why shouldI resist her rprayer34 She is my
child, and will tell her all. God will judge not
as man judgeth; and He knows disgrace cannot
fall on my innocent Bertha. They will kill her
She pines for the want of her parent nest. will
NOT resist her prayersP't alsi 31oiotsTsL
.I escaped from my hated prison7-from my gull
1ded cage. was in our cottage BY the mill once
rore-in my mothers arms-caressing little ST.
mon; and Heaven seemed opening to my heart
It's probable that the strong arm of the law might
have reclaimed me, and placed me once again be-
meath the care ofmy fathers relatives; but was
not asked dfor-Lady Beatrice was weary and dis
gustedwith me- and considered that's had alrea-
| dy done more than her duty; that Iwas iueclam-
able, and for the future, dead to them all.
HssThe affairs Of the mill were managed by an
| tive man, whose integrity could be depended on;
and when Simon was old enough her undertook
the business for himself. Isaac Eyandale had left
will, which there was none to dispute, bequeath-
! ing all his wealth, uncondtionafy, to my mother
and her son. asft ia ltl.i iasyi s4li4 s,si A-ii
"That dear parentdwas spared to US five and
twenty years. never saw b her T smile, but know
she felt perfect peace: and when her sad story
made know to me, and simon also, when he be be-
came of age to receive it, Ithink, possible, her
children's smpathizing love was then redopbled;
and though we all three liyc.a secluded life, yet
1iever found any outward testimonies Of respect
withheld from lier.s That dying man, whose hands
1 had shrunk from at the inn, was my own father
Shipwrecked, taken prisoner, reported dead, and
kept in slavery, had succeeded in escaping, and
reached his native land to die; and, far worse than
death, to learn that!his wife was anothers-that
she had unssittingly dsgraced him and his limo
cent daughter.lf su6 FtlgifH III rms $50
al knew it was principally for my sake that my
old Isaac Evandale, the miller 1 knew how fondly
she treasured her first husband memory--the lover
of her youth the, being whose loss she had never
ceased to deplore. ~.