True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-06-13
z. Raglan, Editor and Proprietor.

ouohSO 0pOoihOh Va POi'OAOON ShAuhOOOaj
who was my own and my fathers guest.
But she had not been with me week, be-
fore I learned absolutely to hate her. She
was, even then, a woman of the world in
miniature. Her dress and her ringlets
we're arranged after the most approved
fashion; her every sentence was conven-
tional and polite. When she left, l de-
clined with cold civility an invitation to
return her visit, and told my father that I
had seen enough of children, l did not
wish any more company. l was his idol,
and he willingly acceded to my desires.
He conducted my education himself, and
it was as contrary as could be imagined to
all the usual modes of educating woman.
Grecian poets and German metaphysicians
were the favorite companions of my hours
of solitude. l was proud, passionate, and
self-willed, but not unloving. l could
have rivalled heroine of romance in my
devotion to my father.
was fifteen years old before any other
stranger ever passed the portals of Hutch
inson-house. Living at SO short distance
from the great, bustling heart of London,
I had never expressed, never even felt,
any desire to look upon its wonders. Oc-
casionally, of late, my father had offered
to take me out with him, but recollecting
Marion Illsley, and considering her spe-
cimen of the society I should probably
meet, l had persistently refused. I was
disturbed in those days by haunting Gu
riosity to know more concerning my moth
er. I had been told by my nurse, that
she was an Italian lady, and very beautiful,
but that was all. Growing toward wo'
manhood, as was, logged to know if
my father had loved her, when they had
met, and if he was with her when she
died. One afternoon, / asked him some
of these questions. He turned upon me
his eyes full of remorseful agony.
Msa," he said, "you know not what
you do. Never ask these questions again
hereafter I loved your mother, and ]
cannot bear, after all this lapse Of years.
even to hear her name. She was daught'
er of the South, beautiful and passionate
and 1 wronged her. Oh, God, can eterni-
ty itself atone for that deep, damnine
wrong! She was SO bright, so happy when
I met her first, creature all poetry ant
music and tenderness. 1 cannot talk o.
her, but lisa will give you something thai
was hers. 1t contains things which came
into my possession only after her death
and which her child may nee1 some day
Keep it sacredly, my daughter, and sweal
by the cross above your mothers grave
that you will never open it until 1 an
sleeping in the tomb of the Hutchinsons.
gave the required pledge, and rising
he took from an old-fashioned desk quaint
ly carved ebony casket, inlaid with flower
Of gold and silver. He placed it in my
hands, and touching spring in one side
out flew little invisible drawer, contain
ing small golden key.
"There, Isa," he said, controlling him
self with an effort, "there, when the tim
shall come to open the casket, you will re
member how to find the key; and now
| my child, leave me"
l went out, and ascending the stairs, en-
tered my own room, I pressed the Caske
, reverently to my lips, for it was all the to
ken l had to remind mo of that dea
Y mother, so beautiful; and, my father ha
. said, so deeply wronged. deposited tn
. casket..in my escritoire, and sat down t
e dream out my mothers destiny.
;. When I met my father at breakfast, th
s next morning, his manner was as calm an
quiet as l had usually seen it. After tn
!. meal was over he rose, and giving me
9 parting kiss, remarked,
: "I shall not be at home before nigh
T. my Isa; 1 am going to see Sydenham PEI
," cy. He married my second cousin, an
!, his only son, Reginald, would be heir
9 law to this estate, if 1 had no naughty Ii
}, tie girl to keep him from it."
If 1t was winter day, and l ordered fire
s. lighted in all the rooms, and spent the tin
|. pacing restlessly from one apartment to tf
another. I walked over every square inc
IS of my own chamber, determined that N
Is feel should tread where the great queen
= = had passed before me. At last / dete
a mined to attire myself as for festive
and gHe my father pleasant surprise
8, his return. I sat down before the miro
= = and surveyed myself intently. 1t was
q italian, rather than an English face, whic
n my gaze encountered. There were the sol
lie silky, and yet luxuriant black hair Of Il
le the Venitians; the delicately arched 1T
y ians brows; the clear, cool, olive compile
10 ion, Frightening in the cheeks to war;
d deep crimson; the small mouth and pea