The Feliciana Democrat., 1858-12-25
A STORY OF LONG ISLAND.

Along the road that lehdS 10 the pehch from
the lonesome village Of (Peter called it ANA
ganset, and SO will we, and no Anagansrt
need trouble himself to say it didn't happen
there) LAY fine farm, in old times, owned
by Stephen Laton, well todo man, who lived
in house by the roadside, with wife and
one child All this happened grant while ago,
SO that the story is more easily to be credited
The daughter Bessie Laton, was u bcanii-
full child, aud grew up to be a very beautiful
woman. Contrary to the custom in those days.
she was sent away to he educated, and 10.
three years from her fifteenth TO her cigh
teenth ycar--shc was in New York. ut the
house Of wealthy uncle, who was to leave her
oil his property, some day.
He might have done more for her, by look
ing more closely after her life then, for Bessie
was no child even in her childish years, but al.
ways had great freedom Of will, strong deter.
minaton, and more than her share Of scfreli.
ance. With all this, she had an abouuding
pride, which had always stamped her chnrac-
ter, and no one who knew her way failed To
see that she had ambition which would rest at
nothing short of the highest position in wo.
mans empire. She loved and was loved by all
the village, but she lived an inner life Of dreams
and hopes and Selfpromises, which her city
life afterwards helped to encourage
No one knew what she did in those three
years. except that her step grew stately her
air assumed the graceS of an accomplished la
dy, and after ALL she came to her home, to her
sea.shorc 6aMn, changed woman The gaic-
ty ef her whole character seemed to be lost,
and sore gla terrible secret evidently prey
ed on her minJ
liz this secret the whole village was interest
ed, old wives wondered what it was allied the
child, and old men shook their heads and said
this was what comes OF 'edicatng children,
and at last the secret was half told and Bes.
sizes name was che byword Of the town
To the mother alone she said, i am marri-
ed, but ! cannot tell you any more until he
comes himself 10 take me- The shame and ag.
ony in which her life now bnrnt away may be
imagined but cannot be told. A year passed
and he did not come. Alone in the cottage
seldom venturing beyond its walls, she dwelt
in secret. growing every day more pale, yet ev
cry day more beautiful. Four winters had dash
ed their storms on the Atlantic coast, and a
fifth was passing. and Bessie was dying, as she
had prayed to die.
1t was wild December night, and there
~
layers had gone. The guns had been heard
booming all the day previous, and they said
she would go ashore on the flood tide, beyond
the help Of man.
In the house Of Stephen Laton, the mother
and daughter were seated, as in many % winter
night before, by the great fire that bazed NJ
the chimney, silent mostly, yet once in @ while
lifting their eyes each to the others counte
nance There was strange and startling re-
semblance in the two women, though one was
old and haggard. and the other, young and
beautiful. The likeness was doubtless in the
prevailing expression Of woe that looked out Of
both their eyes, as they gazed silently and
steadfasty into the flashing fire and listened
to the roaring tempest
Mother said Bessie, springing to her feet
Mt length with cry of anguish Mother
pray God to let me die
Patience, Bessie, my child, patience
Patience, mother! have been patient four
years. am patient-but | would to God |
were lying out yonder in the old graveyard
with all the old folk and young folk of all the
graves, instead of being here tonight
She was magnificent as she stood there, her
long white night robe buttoned to her throat,
and flowing to her feet as she casped her
hands and looked up to heaven Certainly
she was very beautiful, with the beauty of ap.
preaching death.
The tramp of men disturbed the scene, as
they brought in a body from the wreck. Bes.
sic passed into an inner room whittier in mo.
ment her mother brought in her stout arms,
the form of young, slender, fair haired girl,
whose face of very delicate beauty was now
almost heavenly in what seemed at first the
peace of death.
They laid her in Bessie's bed, and in an honl
by diligent care, had succeeded in restoring
animation if not consciousness. Once she had
murmnred Philippe, and Bessie sprung mp
with fierce flush on her countrnance at the
sonnd, bur sinking back with half suppressed
moan, contlhnod her eXertonS in silence
In the meantime the bodies of several men