Daily evening star. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1852-1854, 1853-05-30

sort Of quiet happiness to every one on
board.
At length came long conferences be-
tween the stout, smiling, Irish mother,
and the naughty old couple.
After every interview, each party seem
ed sadder; and the young mother often
came away with red eyes.
could imagine to what all this was
tending, but was not prepared for the
issue when it came, for learned that
these Irish parents had given away their
little girl, and the necessary papers hav-
ing been signed, she was no longer in
their possession. I own | was startled,
and felt as much Indignation at the act,
as grief for the mother, who after the last
preliminary was through, fell upon her
husbands shoulder, exclaiming-
cob! Dennis, Dennis, We should not
have persuaded me to this-my own one,
my wee one-my hearts own life and
love-oh! Dennis, I'll never be happy
again"
To which he answered her with sooth-
ing words, whispering that in the love
and care of their newborn babe, she
would find solace. And then their daugh-
ter would be lady, rich, educated-what
had they to give her? How could they
turn aside the temptations that might be
thrown around their beautiful one?
But the mothers heart would not be
comforted; She grew pale and spiritless !;
and the day of landing ng-when the little
one was cared for wholly by her foster
parents-whcn the magnificent carriage
drove up to the dock-when the child,
ignorant of her destiny, was placed with
in, and held out her little hands, saying,
"now mama, u cannot, I will not at
tempt the scene Of her emotion. 1t
seemed as if her very heart died within
her, and she was carried, half fainting
from the wharf.
1t was some three years after the adop-
ton of the little emigrant. She had out
grown her infancy: her loveliness increa-
sed with each coming day. Unbounded
wealth lay at her command, child as she
was. Her foster-parents loved her with
a love that was near idolatry. She was
the charm of the household, and far and
near was she spoken of as that beautiful
Rose Ringold.
At times, thin, STOPPING figure might
be seen gliding along by the princely old
mansion, and going stealthily to the back
doorway of Judge Ringold's wealthy
home. There, from the kitchen, through
the kindness of the servant, the poor
mother caught now and then glimpse of
her lost child. With her fair hair fall
ing in long, trained curls, glossy as silk
en- sheen, about her pretty shoulders,
and the dainty air that luxury bestows,
she looked, in her rich robes, like an an
gel to the stricken mother. Stricken!
for alas! she was childless now. Her
grief had smoothed the shroud and pre-
pared the grave for her infant last born,
and she knew but little comfort otherwise,
save in this stolen pleasure.
CONSERVATION fell upon the household
Of the proud judge. A scourge, such as
none hear whispered save with trembling
seized their beautiful Rose. Not one
could be found to take charge of their
darling, save the agonized mother, who,
on her knees, prayed so wildly for the
privilege, they at last consented.
Many days and nights dragged on !:
wailing notes struck the fond ear; death
hovered by, casting the shadow Of his
dark wing on the sunny brow and the
gentle heart; but her own darling laid
on her bosom, from whence she had been
taken-and every breath Of the poor
mother, was prayer of thanksgiving.
Death came at last-but it was the
old judge whom it called to his last
account; and again came death, to sum-
mon the foster mother of Rose.
/ Now, indeed, the bond seemed broken
but it was not so. The promise, sacred
as an oath, that had been exacted from
the trembling mother, when she begged
this her great boon, she held sacred still.
Her child recovered j; all the fortune of
the old Judge, it was found, was left by
| will to his little Rose-left in responsible
hands until she should arrive at a suitable
age to reclaim it. --.
Little knew the lovely child-the grace
full girl-the beautiful, though proud and
imperious woman-that under her own
root, the person of fthat pale, bowed down
servant, to whom she. the wilful, petted
creature, clung with a love for which she
could never account, dwelt her own
mother-the mother who had given her
birth.