Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1857-07-01
GaSits' 9tpartmsnt.
THE ANCHOR AND THE CROSS.
CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER I.
Every one carries within his breast a
truthful record of his past life. To forget
the leading features connected thereto is
impossible. So III is with me, SO with every
one.
As the snow-capped Andes tower to-
wards the heavens, far above the verdant
plains, reveling in the sunshine of the per-
petual summer, so tower the leading events
Of our lives above everything else that yet
holds q place in our memories-above the
level Of the day gone by
Nevertheless, the story of a life is but
a collection Of fragments, for we cannot re-
member each everyday occurrence. While
the main aud leading events of our lives
are stamped i%Ddeliblly upon our memories,
the occurrences Of lesser mement are al
most invariably consigned to oblivion.
The earlist reeollections | have are asso-
ciated with o home in the great city of Phil
adelphia. My childhood passed away, I
suppose, about as that Of other children
Amusement occupied my attention the first
half dozen years Of my life-Then | was
sent to school. My father was wealthy, and
YOU may be sure we lived in a style not
u~nbecoming lone of the first families in the
city
But it is not my purpose to trace out all
the little events that occurred to me during
the period Of my childhood. My record
has to do with another era of my existence.
Ny eighteenth birthday had just passed
when | first met Albert Ashley. He was
handsome and intelligent, v%irtuous and
good; and, can you wonder at it? loved
him.
Aye, loved him with all the strength, oil
the fervor of maiden's love.
And my love was returned.
But Albert was poor. Albert a novice
in his professionally law-wholly depen-
dent upon it for support, and, moreover a
fair young sister leaning upon him for sup
port, he was far from being what my father
considered a desirable match for his daugh-
ter.
He was poor, and on that account my
father spurned him. He-my father-told
me to keep in view the fact that was ac-
cOmpllshed and wealthy, and might win one
of earth's noblest sons. =
But is not Mr.. Ashley a worthy youne
MANI I asked. Us he not virtuous anC
good, and in every way worthy the affection
of q %virtuous womanP.
Il acknowledge that he may be a trust
worthy young man., he replied; but thel
be is little more than a beggar. Had he
fortune, such as you have a right to expect
/ do not know that l should object to hi
suit. But, asst is, you must have nothin
to say to him. It's your money he's aftt
nothing else
but, father I plead, albert Ashle
may succeedin his profession he may soc
acquire q sufficient practice to enable hi
to live independently
'And Ada Moreton may die an old ma
before that comes to pass he replied.
Enough 1t was only because of
poverty that Ashley was considered UNIV
thy. Would | not be justified, then,
setting Qsids eRaJGsplala uthnritx far on
Thus | reasoned-thus l felt.
Ashley was forbidden the house, yet
met often in secret.
There was an arbor in the garden tn,
We met at stolen intervals-there, over a
over again, we plightcd our sacred troth
each other.
One night-it is and ever will be fro
in ny memory-we met in the arbor. A
ley proposed a secret marriage. My c.
science whispered that it would not
wrong. l consented. Just tben a rus
was heard among the shrubbery, and
father stood before us.
Anger wasdepicted upon his countenan
be had heard all our plans. In as calr
voice as he could command he said 4:
Since you have determined to set at
rance all my commands, haveit your o
way. You, Mr.. Ashley, may have
daughter. Take her. She is my daugh
no longer and with her, as dowry, ts
her fathers curse, for not one farthing
the gold you seek shall you ever posse
Take her; but after that, let neither of
enter my house again. Don't disgr
yourselves by a secret marriage; but u
poverty and misfortune ever attend :
both
He was gone. tAnd will you, ASH
love me the same? Will you cherish
pennilesS Ada as you would the heires
/ asked, sinking into my lovers m
'Dearer, if possible, will you be to
my W Ada he replied. Il can now c
vince all that it is yourself prize, not y
fathers gold.' l was satisfied.
But why multiply words? We "
married-married at home ; yet for ms
many days after that, it was the last no,
spent in my fathers house.
The ceremony over, we prepared to
part. No kind farewell was uttered n
cared whether my future life would be
of happiness or of misery. None, d
say My mothers eyes filed with tel
but awed by fathers stern aspect, she
her peace. Yet she, too, had upbra.
me for my folly as she termed it.
My only sister, Mary, also Joined il
tering maledictions against me. \
blessed. None, did l say?
Yes, one there was, my little bro
Frank, who chung to my arm, and wit
the eloquence ofhis childish heart besol
me to stay. He threw himself at my
bands feet, and besought him not to
Ada off, l kissed his cheek, wet
weeping-I mingled my tears with hi
My husband handed me into the car
and we we're gone.
CHAPTER II.
1t was to a distant part of the city
we removed. and an our wav thither