The Lancaster ledger. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, 1853-03-02

pI"| '''c WE ~ was CaIicu 10 take charge
of 4 distant seminary, consequently it
was with less regret that left school and
went to learn the trade Of drcssmakinr. |
did not however entirely cease writing.
Afew months passed, when my mo hers
health seemed to decline, but still as she
uttered so few complaints, | did not for a
moment imagine she was seriously i'll. |
never F"r au instant dreamed of the
"ti.uuuy .ha' w:,> nnp,nl.u~.
= 60" lay hai hv,.u absent 10 con,cv
>omc work my !noihrr l,d ra, -,it had Ia
bored 'u.r-, :.~~luo,,-Iy to finish, when OH
agarn cur"fn;- ihy huuNc, observed her
/ to bc aIarlnngly pale, and pressing her
hand To her side. persuaded her to lie
down, and had scarccl y left the room for
some restorative, when heard her cxclam
Clara" and aS suddenly | flew back to
her bedside. She partly raised herself,
extended her arms towards me, fell heavily
back on the bed, and remained motionless.
! | supposed she had tainted, but wild with
alarm, | hastily called in ncighbor. |
never shall forget the expression of her
countcnancc as she glanced upon my
mother. To my great wonder, she rushed
from the hours, and quickly returned with
several persons.
"Oh, what ails her" fran,ically cried,
as with awc-struck cOuntcnanccs they
ralnIy tried To restore animation, but they
only bid me not to feel alarmed. Ncrv
soon physician arrived, summoned bv
| know not whom, and with what Il sense
of relief | witnessed his approach. Anx-
iously | reached him as he drew near m
mother, but oh. how can | describe the
agony that like lightning rent my soul, as
he uttered, She is dcdd :"
mo, no." exclaimed, "shc is not dead
only tainted u few minutes ago. You
can surely restore her. Oh, doct,r, say
my mother is not dcad.'
He turned towards me and said, any
poor child, your mother can never be
restored, for she has died Of disease OF
the heart"
At these words the blood froze in nv
VEINS, my heart seemed to iurn to ice
and for hours | WIS insensiblc to nv
woes.
The next day | awokc from heavy
sIumbcr, produccd by the extreme ex-
hanSt'on ofmy frame. Gradually arous-
oil 10 a sense OF my atiliction, and on
seeing "Aunt Brown," IN old lady who
was ncighbor, sitting 10y my side, asked
her, Has my father been home?"
Long and sadly did She gaze upon me,
but on my repeating my question, she
answered, Yes, my dear, he came home
last evening"
"Whcre, then, is he now!" | asked
"lle has been gone these two days, and
oh. does he-docs he khow." but her.
anguish overwhelmed me, and groaned
IN the bitterness of my heart.
Good Mrs. Brown soothcd me, and
when was somewhat calm again, she
took my hand, and whilst her voice auv-
cred with emotion, said to me:
'l.lstcn To me, Clara. have sad IT,
dngs for you. Atfiction, heavy atiliction
has bctallcn you, but you know not all
yet. 1t is best, perhaps, that You should
even now know what has happened. Can
you school yourself to hear, my child!"
Struck with wonder at her words, and
filled, know not why, with awe, | bade
her proceed,-but little did | imagine
what were her tidings.
She told me that my father had return
cd while was unconscious; that his con-
stcrnation when he learned what had
occurred, at first seemed to deprive him
OF the power of utterance, but at last he
trantica,|v hcwailcd my mothers death,
n"I then r> ho looked upon my scn,cleSs
form. an" was lnti lhat it was feared |
should never agalH be restored to anima-
ton, he with = perfect yell oi agony cx-
claimed, 'Oh, God! have murdered
them both.' and striking his forehead
with his clenchcd hand, lie rushed from
the house. lie was seen running wildly
through the streets towards the water,
and wheE in the morning lis hat and coat
were found on wla {, it WAS known
that he had thrown himself into the tide,
and was in ali probability drowned.
l cannot tell how | received the intel
ligcncc that | was an orphan, for nv
bleeding heart suffered too intensely to
remember what passed, except when |
was forcibly torn from my dear mother
that she might be consigned to the earth
and then how did /, in my very soul,
long to die, that might 90 Will, her.
cannot tell you, Mary you who are
surrounded by the wealth Of home and
friends, the feelings of my desolate heart.
| cannot describe to you, who are so
constantly upheld by the arms of parental
and brotherly affection, my utter loneli-
ness, my terrible anguish of mind, for
you could not understand it, and earnest
ly pray that you may never know the
bereavement Of the fond mother who has
watched over you infancy and advised your
youth, or the father whom you love so
well.
Old Mrs. Brown took me home with
her, where, by her motherIy kindness, she
tried If possible to console me in some
measure. The few effects my pavents
possessed were soon sold to defray fu-
neral expenses, and only retained a gold
locket containing my mothers miniature,
taken soon after her marriage.
Weeks passed, scarcely know how;
no other home Ina but with the kind
old lady who at first took me in; but