Clearfield Republican. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1851-1937, 1854-11-22
A SEETCH ; BUT NOT OF FANCY.
BY JULIAN CRAMER.


1t was pitilul story. The poor crea-
ture who had walked twenty miles that
day, in the heat ola July sun, could scarce.
ly speak from very fatigue; and when
she had ended her sad tale, there was
scarcely dry eye in the whole company,
albeit the bor-room OF the village inn was
crowded with sturdy men to whom tears
were novel. Her baby--as sweet an in
FAINT as ever saw-Iay motionless on her
breast and though the mother knew it
not, it never would move again save in The
agonies of death.
She was no common beggar. There
was a dignity in her appearance, as she
crept slowly towards the open door Of tho
hotel, that commanded respect and those
vino, a moment before, were filling the air
with their noisy vociferalions, were silent
us she passed them on her way TO the
house. Her poor feet, tidIly though coarse.
Iy clad, were blistered, and every step
left in its impression traces Of blood. She
only asked permission 10 rest an hour,
and to moislen her lips with water bat
those rough back.woolsmcn, gathered
that day for rroic, could not witness her
evident suffering summoned. Ono brought
her chair-another insisted on adding
a little whiskoy Qhc only stimulant he
knew 10 the water she craved and a
third-a hercuIean monster-would have
relieved her of her child had she not clung
neryously TO it, 1t was delightful eX.
hlbtion Of heart. She received their at.
tentions with a modest gratciuIness that
alone would have won my sympathy, had
not her iorlorn appearance already com.
PEELED it. She had been-was still
beautiful, though sorrow and unkindness
had sadly marred the lines Of grace
She was evidently of gentle lineage, and
when she spoke, her language assured me
Of it.
When somewhat rested, they question.
ed her Of her history and intentions. In
the simplicity Of their unworIdIy natures,
they knew not that this might be offensive
they meant well and kindly. Whether
she felt that the interest which they man.
Ilested was sincere, or whether Heaven
had PurposeIy ordered all events that fol-
lowed, know not but she freely reveal.
ed her history to that ungenile crowd,
whose excIamations Of surprise and anger,
mingled with threats, and now and then
a big round oath, attended her narrative ia
its close.
1t was the old story. Living happily
and peacefully in her fathers house-u
country rectory in England--she had
loved, "not wisely, but, too we'll" For.
bidden bands and a long and painful strug.
gle between right and wrong-betweon
love and duiy--wero followed by a mis-.
guided eopement. The still unwcdded
pair fed to this land, and for time lived
in comfort and even luxury. But alas,
the romance was exhausted when she be.
came a mother.
% the same night, when the first faint
cry Of the inIant fell on her ear, the IN.
natural father forsook them both, forever.
pennless, fricndIess, homeless, with her
FIRST returning strength she set forth with
her baby on her painful pilgrimage
Weary and ioot.sore, she vet staggered
along, day after day, over the wild roads
Of the West-ihc only aim of her journey
being to reach the sea.coost, where she
hoped to beg passage home to her father.
Poor prodigal there we're fifteen hundred
long miles between her and the Atlantic,
and yet her energy was unbroken. She
felt that if she could but reach her father,
the only friend she had on earth, all would
be forgiven. So she struggled on, day ar.
ter day, bearing her infant on her bosom,
stopping seldom, and only for brief rest.
Careful as she had been of her precious
burden, the child was evidently dying
when she entered an humble tavern on a
prairie in Illinois, where the scene Of my
story occurred. Ii had doubtless drawn
the poison Of death instead Of the nourish.
ment Of life from its mothers breast and
| the excessive heat of the sun, which pour.