The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-04-14
b For The National Era,
THE o THER MARION.
BY T.. {

BY z. C. f
"Our Manon is cunning little sprite, Just
year and a half old. We've this moment put
her to bed, after q nice frolic. We wonder how
many mothers, could they all compare this
evenings experience, would recount like wiles
and rogueries, ON the part of their PETS to those
by which our own leisure. has just been be-
guiled! Within an hour, "our Marion" has
danced and capered round the room twenty
times; tumbled down as many more; has
"been to Boston half a dozen trips on our
foot poked her sly fingers twice in our eyes !;
burnt them once on the stove drawn the ia
ble-cloth off with half dozen tea cups; tipped
over our work basket; pulled our hair and
kissed us, in the same breath tumbled over
the rockers of her horse, and bruised her fore
head indeed, she has capered, and crowed,
and cried, every moment for an hour, making
her nzsssssna exceedingly pleased and anxious
all the while. The little thing struggled and
writhed when we united and unbottoned, Gsped
all the little words she knew, and made a mas
terly leap from our lap when the last stocking
aid. Marion's black eyes began to snap, and
her little words drawled lazily. All at once, we
felt her tiny head sink heavily on our arm. She
was fast asleep There she lies on the lounge,
all wrapped in great flannel night-gown, with
one dimpled hand thrown over her head, and
the other firmly grasping a dolly, minus all its
limbs. Her lips are firmly set, and she breathes
strongly and evenly. We know that she is
WE'LL .-
Why, then, have we, her happy mother,
heaved sigh, and seated ourself, before the
fire, with folded arms? We are going to be
sadder and more thoughtful than usual the
spell is on us so we come to you, dear friends,
for sympathy.
This pathway of life is hard to tread, at best.
We, who have so many things richly to enjoy,
want for love and sympathy-but what are our
heartaches, our longings, to the dearth and
deafness of natures aliens
Our maternal instinct has inclined us of late
to speculation, somewhat after this wise We
wonder what little Marion is going to make-we
think her marvellously gifted mind-wise, of
course; and nights we lie awake, full of pros
pective plans for her education. Her moral
nature also we anticipate, and picture her to
ourself, grown up, lovely and gifted, the child
of prayers and anxious care. We even went
so far, the other morning, as to decide upon the
age at which she was to be sent away to school,
where we should send her, and the like. How
far our foolish fancy might have carried us we
wot not for just then tap at the back door
announced poor little girl, who had come for
her Sabbath-school uniform, and went away
joyfully buoyant, over coarse blanket shawl
and a ninepenny delaine.
We Rugged Sour Marion closer to us, strok-
ed her dimpled hands, pressed her feet, so
daintiy clad in hozen of soft lambs wool, and
cunning ankle ties, wondering if time could
ever make those little limbs stout enough, and
her heart brave enough, to tread right woman
ly the path before her We bethought our
selves, too, of another Marion, whose touching
story we propose to tell. No sentimental tale
are we going to offer you, tricked out in roman
tic fancies, but rather simple story of noble
souled girl, who, by exertion of Unborn power
rose superior to adverse fortune, and lived to
fulfil a noble womauhood.
We did not name "our Marion for her, but
we are glad of the coincidence. This other
Marion was not born in the so-called upper
walks of life, did not open her baby eyes on
rosewood cradle, with satin lining but, like
our own, was more fortunately ushered into this
mundane sphere, in the home of happy COM
petence. Like "our Marion she daily took
an airing in stout willow basket, toyed with
broken nosed dolls and puzzled her doting
parents twenty times week by the ever-vary-
ing cast of her features.
In due course of time, Marion having settled
her face into an exact copy of her mammals,
was sent to school, where she became still
greater prodigy by youthful achievement In
deed, Marion babe fair to be like countless
others of her sex, and you and l might never
have heard her name, even, had not Providence
seen fit mysteriously to mark her for higher
destiny.
Mr.. Grey, that was her fathers name, sicken.
ed and died his faithful wife took the conta-
gious disease, and soon followed him. The little
Marion, at eight years, was left an orphan. She
did not seem to lack friends, however, for report
made her the heiress of abundant wealth. Eos.
ter parents and guardians offered themselves
by scores-never child more petted than the
lucky Marion
Time told different story. The large library,
fine pictures, care, free life, and generous hos
pitality of the father, had been purchased at ex-
pense of his income; and the child had been
left an orphan indeed. Twas singular enough
how her host of friends for the first time dis
covered that she was not so very pretty, after
all that she had some exceedingly trying waysl
Strange exclaimed one, "that with such
mother, she's no better bred !" "Tve children
enough of my own, to take care for" said an.
other, who, a short time before, had been only
too willing to adopt the forlorn child Poor
little thing; she'd already learned to sly away
into some corner, aud cry relief to her aching
heart, only to be chded anew for her strange
waysl
She was strange child but only strange
compared with other children of her own age,
as the refined and cultivated seem strange to
the ignorant and boorish. The workings Of an
acute and sensitive mind gave lustre to her
dark eyes, and direction to all her acts.
She was not beautiful, not even pretty but
exceeding winsome--had one of those faces
which, in maturer life, we are wont, in lieu of
better explicative, to call interesting '-fea
lures all a-glow with expression, heart in the
lips and soul in the eyes, We see such faces
nov and then, and wonder at the strange mes
merism of thought and feeling.
The petted Marion was in reality an out
cast and here, again, we had well nigh lost her
memory in the parish work-house, had not a
cousin of her fathers, her nearest relative in
this country, bethought himself that the world
expected him to take the child, and fssd and
clothe it
So Marion had home again but how un-
like the home of her infancy no books, no
flowers, no music, no endearments. For the
mother of the house there was money and dress,
and company, and the eager pursuit of worldly
pleasure; but for the child only one pnyarYi9g
hard round Of toll There wete no daughters
in that home, and here was a chance to give a
sisters subduing influence to three rude, over
.l~,,c Ill -
To train q neneronsL pratefnl loving heart To