The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1856-07-31
NO. 500.
For the National Era
AMllH TIES:
OR,
THE STORY OF MARY c..
BY MINNIE MYRTLE.

l In oIOh Of ID AK c..
! BY MINNIE MYRTLE.
We often hear it said that tho natural affec.
ton which fathers feel for daughters, and broth
ers for sisters, is sufficient to insure their pro-
| lection and secure them against want. In the
arrangements of Providence, we cannot help
feeling that he meant this should be the case
and the instances where it is not, may be the
| exceptions, and not the rule But we have
known very many in whose bosoms there did
not seem to glow single spark of the love of
kindred" and to whom the ties of relationship
were not even bonds of common interest.
Mary C was the only daughter of rich
and titled father, who gave her the education
| and Accomplishments which were considered a
daughters portion in the day in which she
lived and about their establishment there was
| sort of feudal grandeur which was often
found among our republican ancestors, the
remnants of the life they lived in the proud
| land from which they came. The father, too,
considered he had right to exercise over a
daughter the authority which should control
her heart, and with the sternness of feudal
baron refused her hand to him who had gained
her love, because wealth or honors had not
made him fit companion for one of her lineage
and possessions.
In those days there was only one sphere for
woman; and if deprived of the power of walk.
IN this, her only womanly course was to pine
and die. The romsnces of the olden time
took their tone from real life; and this feature
OF real life was deepened and protracted by
the halo with which it was invested in all the
novels of the age. Without love, life had no
brightness, and life, too, was without an object;
and destitute of these two incentives to exer-
ton and motives for existence, there was moth
ing-the mind became paralyzed, and the heart
was left to corrode by its own bitterness.
| With Mary C there must have been also
bitterness of spirit for, deprived of the sym.
patty of him in whom her hopes we're centred
she refused the sympathy of all the world be-
side, and would not hold communion with any.
There are no nunneries for Protestant reclu.
| SEES; and this may be the reason why so many,
to whom the gaze of mocking world is tor
ture, seek the oblivion which death alone offers.
and plunge themselves into some gulf or faith.
omless stream, or, as is the case with many
more than the world has knowledge of, 90 vol
unfairly down to the ways Of darkness and
death.
But Mary c. did not seek either of these
remedies. She shut herself in q solitary cham
Der of her fathers house, and for two long
years was as dead to all around her as if the
clod and the green mound had covered her
Not word did her lips utter in all that time;
and however kind the voice whose accents fell
upon her ear, it producedno more visible emotion
than If addressed to marble statue, There
expressionless, and on her brow settled gloom,
ht emblem of the soul within, seeming almost
unconscious of existence. A father who could
sterilize her soul, and quench the gushing
fountains of her heart, did not refuse her the
qualification of her physical wants, and the
daily ministration Of outward kindness. Every
day he went in and out with the same naughty
step-every morning, noon, and night, ate his
meals in the same naughty silence. No allu.
sion was made to her whose happiness had
been blighted, and whose smile might have
been the sunshine of his life. Her slow aud
melancholy step above his head should have
fallen like milestone upon his heart; but there
was never any evidence that the sound of a
single football fell upon bis ear
To say father could cease to love child.
would be considered too monstrous a thought
to originate in human breast; but what
strange love is that which has no sohening
power, which can dwell in fathers heart, with.
out quickening it TO kindly deeds. We may
call 1t love, but what better is it than hatred if
its fruits are the same? A father and daughter |
for two long years beneath the same roof, with |
out once meeting, without the interchange of
a single word, nourishing enmty, and studying
revengel
The mother, who would have been the medi. |
ator between the stern parent and disobedient |
or appealing children, had been long in the |
grave; and brothers, who should have plead a |
sisters cause, pronounced her weak and foolish, |
and left her to desertion.
But there came revulsion TO the Young
heart, so paralyzed and oppressed, and a spirit |
OF rebellion aroused her TO throw off the chains
which bound her, and flee. Love is sure to
lind willing messengers and the lover did not
refuse protection to her who sought it, blighted
by fathers curse; and there was found one |
who was willing to unite them in the name of
God, and pray for them the blessing of Heaven.
There are some flowers which seem blighted
In the bud and though they bloom, it is with.
out the healthy freshness that indicates perfec-
ton, and they fade, and droop, and die, and
shed no perfume on the air-their mission is
but half accomplished. So there are lives,
that seem by sorrow marked from the cradle
to the grave. There is life and motion, but
there is blight upon the spirit; and however
genial the sunshine that warns it, or gentle the
dews that water it, there is but a Swallowed
brightness, which passes away in thick clouds
Of darkness, and leaves no trace but gloom.
FOR little while, Mary was happy in her
new life, but death soon snapped the cord which
hQr IN Inutn hnarf Il 4 |
alone again-alone upon desert ISLE without
a flower or leaf to gladden. her weary eyes, or
bending twig to cling TO for support. Alone
fraIl, yaang creature, nurtured in dependence
MD pampered by luxury, never taught selfreli-
lnce, or prepared for adversely, left to encoun-
er lts rudest blasts, without shelter or single
taft of defence.
He whose arms should have opened to re-
,elve her, repulsed her with reproaches, and
he bosom On which she longed 10 rest her
weary head, beat With no kindly sympathy. A
atheys anger, however unjust, must poison a
daughters happiness and however conscious
IT rectitude, there must be sting in her bosom,
he pang of which no balm cen sliay.
Mary had been permitted little enjoyment,
'ut it was not without alloy; and now, that she
vas thrown back upon a relentless parent for
protection and support her misery was without
ray of hope. She wept but the tears were
ike burning lava, and gave her no relief; and
DON the brain, like the scared and withered
eart, became palsied, and reason left her tot.
ering throne.
No longer a stubborn and rebelious child.
'oor Mary was now as weak and helpless az in
er infancy; and now there dawned, in the
tern fathers bosom, that pity which physical
'eakness Is 80 potent to excite, while the sor.
ow-stricken and woe-burdened heart may plead