The Georgetown news., 1856-04-24
From the Sierra Citizen.
A Leaf from My Mothers journal.
BY ANNIE.

From some cause, seem to be possessed
of most unnatural horror for heartless
people. Whether it is constitutional, or
from the effects Of early impressions, am
unable to say. To me there is no more
lamentable sight than to see the link uni
ting the child to the parent tarnished and
corroded with prejudice, and yet, am a
victim to that same evil.
[ remember my father was an odd selfish
man of the world; reserved, dignifed and
repulsive in his manners. He was, much of
his time, absent from home, and / regarded
his periodical revolutions (for they were lit,
tie less) as the visitation Of some scourge,
for my amendment. When quite young, |
remember, in rare instances to have climbed
| upon his knees, on his return home, ascri-
bing, in my childish innocence, any previous
unpleasant occurrences to a transgreSSion
on my own part, and each time hoping it
had been forgotten by my unjust parent
But l soon learned what, even when very
child, l dreaded most to know-that he en-
tertained little or no affection for his daugh-
ter! My childish rehearsals were invaria-
bly, Silenced in his presence. He never ad-
dressed me save in the form of command;
and as penalty for any outburst of .juve-
nile glee, | Uas confined in my room for the
day. This singular and most unnatural
state of affairs hal the unfortunate effect to
estrange me from my parent to such a de-
gree that whenever summoned into the pres
ence of my father shuddered with min
gled feeling of terror and disgust. But it
was not for myself alone that the lip quiv-
cred as though melted by some fendish
power, over which had no control; not for
myself that the tear trembled in my eye like
the last dew-drop upon the plant in fearful
apprehension of the searching MONDAY sun.
No! 1t was for my gentle, sorrowing, heart
broken mother.
Ours was secluded life; l knew not
wherefora. / saw little of the world, and
knew nothing of my mothers history. l
never heard her tale Of woe from her own
lips, but my own innate sense told me how
deeply she was wronged. Patient, sorrow
ing and silent, she lived over each day as
though it was her last. They said that her
mind was no longer in her own keepiug!-
that at times, airy visions and intangible
shapes peopled the world of her imagination
but if l comprehended this dreadful truth,
studied her moods the more diligently, and
anticipated and moulded, so far as lay with
in my power, everything to her fancies. In
those moments of abstraction, how calm
she appeared. how like snowflake issuing
from stormy skies! so pure, so helpless, and
yet SO entirely overwhelmed with grief.
For one blessing can never cease to
feel grateful-that of being permitted al
ways to be near her, and yet feel indebted
rather to some intervention of Providence
than disposition on the part of my father
to please. He had always entertained and
expressed an adherence for boarding
schools, IA fact, by the way, which scarce
need be remarked among his idiosyncracies)
basing his arguments on philosophical prin-
ciples, and concluding with an avowal of
his determination to educate his child under
his own roof, and subject her to his own IL
fuences, thereby avoiding a fashionable er-
ror-that G. rearing vain, weak, frivolous
woman, possessing few superficial accom-
phshments. Thus far, there was consonance
of opinion between my sire and my mother
and through these means was | privileged
to linger near her, though passive as an in
fant, yet very Vesta in our household.
1t was sultry afternoon in August All
day the sun had poured his scorching beams
in unmerciful refulgence upon the scorched
and arid earth. AS motionless as its trunk,
hung the leaves from the elm tree at the
door. Even Kolus himself seemed to have
become exhausted, so painfully calm and
breathless was the hour. That day the in
valid seemed to have thrown off the languor
which, from long series of years of imbe-
cility, had become her very counterpart, and
again taken upon herself the form of that
being who was SO brightly blended and
mingled through every fibre of memory of
my childhood. Her eyes glowed with an
unnatural fire, and the sound of her voice
was as sweet stream of music, borne upon
the breath of the moaning winds. Present
ly white scroll was visible in the distance,
and following close in its wake dark cloud
rose, as if from out the deep. CamIy she.
sat-that angel mother-gazing upon the
coming storm, listening to the increasing
blast, and watching the angry cloud, as it
FASTENED to darken and blaclen the sky
The winds rose high. The very elements
seemed weaving themselves into shroud
for their hapless victims. In terror drew
close by the side of my mother.
"Nettie, my daughter" at length she
murmurrd, in voice long a stranger tony
heart. The voice of memory speaks to my
heart tonight; ayel and even through these
raging elements, the whole history of my
lite land sad it is indeed) seems thrust into
this one hour. | can this moment recall
events which have been mercifully swept
away into the chaos of the past, and which,
but for this reaction, might have been for
ever buried in oblivion. 'Nettie, do you
remember an escritoir given me by my
brother, and which has been thrust away in
to the attic?"
With not little surprise, 1 replied in
the affirmative.
Go, them said she. eto drawer. press