Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1860-11-14

The bride was arraycd for the altar; the
guests assembled; an hour more and our
beautiful Grace would have been forever
the bride of one of the proudest ans noble:t
men of New York.
A little boy came to the door and hand
ed the servant letter, to be carried at
Once, to Miss Grace. SuPpOsing ii some
bridal cOngratulation or gift, it was sent te
her room; she opened it in the presence of
her bridesmaids. read one line. shriekcd
tainted and fell headlong upon the carpet
Confusion reigned throughout the house;
help was called; ran into the room, and
picking up the letter read that one line
Then crushed it and sank it to the bottom
ofmy pocket The awful words were these:
Grace, beware; you are the daughter of
the slave girl, Mena." Oh, what a fearful
time that was She did recover, but only
to 90 from ono fiinting fit into another
There was long letter accompanying the
sheet upon which was written those fear
full words. Grace knew she was not our
child, and the uncertainty of her birth and
parents often had depressed her, but We al
ways begged of her to think nothing of it,
and feel that she was our child; ours in every
way in love and fortune"
The guest were dismissed with the tale
that the young lady had been taken sudden
ly i'll, and the maids were led to believe
that nothing in the letter had induced the
fit | said, her tire woman had dressed
her too tight, and 81 it passed We took
the bridegroom to the library and there to-
gcther We read it all 1t was an old stain
cd letter, dated twenty years before, and
directed to Harold | have it here now.
and will read it if can, for weeping.
DEAR HAROLD:-You little dream that
poor Alena is so near your old hsme to-
night; when | came here 1 hoped once more
to see you. to pray you to care for our child
when l am gone. for cannot live long
1t was cruel in your father and mother to
teach me to read and yet not teach me to
be virtuous, but now. just now, | thank
them, for | can write to you. Slaves can
not be virtuOus.)
When your father sold me, he charocd
Don Lase, the naughty Spaniard, to be
good to me- Oh, how cruel he had been
himself in taking nc away from all | low
ed. Don LasO had bought for the bascst
purpose; | hated him; would not Weld
to his wishes, and when he found | was to
become i mother, lie cursed me and beat
me and turned me into the cane fields,
where | toilcd for many day. till faiuting
with fatigue | was dragged to the quarter.
he gave me no mercy. =
Our child was born, and then one idea
Onls possessed me, to eseape from the Is
land. to put it under your protection. where
it should escape the fate of a slave |
agreed to everything he required. if he
would give me time to recover my health {
and strength.
There was ship in port loading for !
New York, with sugar and rum. Being
now permitted to 90 to the great house, |
stole from my mistress casket Of jewels, I
which she seldom used, and would not
miss-she sent mc with her key to get her }
fan from the escritiore. and slipped them
in nay pocket. That night bribed Yam
kce sailor, with trihe, to take ME to the q
ship, he suppOsing | wanted to meet some t
sailor, which is a common custom. | had d
my babe in palm leaf basket and pretend .
cd it was present of fruit, for some one.
| got on board, all hands were busy get
ting the decks cleaned and ready to depart 4
with the land breeze at morn. l sought d
the cabin; it was empty; under deep berth =,
l secreted myself and child, till the ship
weighed anchor, and | was safe. | told "
the old Captain my story, how had been VI
raised in the States and was carried away a
and sold. but did net tell him all | did o.
aot tell him your fathers name. l begged =,
sim not to return me, and moved with pity
sOr my youth and sorrow, he became my iC
friend. II
When VIC landed in New York l sought Il
IN obscure jeweler who bought my casket "
Without word, giving me perhaps quar- O,
er its value, his only fear was that he !,
should lose the bargain, with the money -
have Travelled to your fathers neighb1r- 81
lOod Oh, how weak and weary [ am eI
Harold, | am dying: shall leave my child b,
t your fathers door, with it this letter to /
ou. i.'
Farewell, when this mission is ended, | ~
hall return to New York, and in the deep. al
oep sea, that will not return my poor boo dy tn
D the hands of man; bury me out of sight di
hat 10 suspicion shall ever rest upon our h,
hid hoye walked the last forty miles -
n the woods in the cold frosty moonlight. w
nd lived upon what | could carry my co
asket, to escape the eye of man -. 5qu
God bless you and keep you as you care be
)r our child MExA. ~.
Where this letter came from, we did not W;
now, nor have We since becn able to un- la
lvel the mystery. But We did not doubt to,
ne truth of it he
Grace fingered many weeks between life tn
nd death Falkner T., Ike my own brave tn
-arold, would still have married her, but 20
ne refused even to see hin; no persuasion loo
,uld move her, We told her she was ours, hi;
ow more than ever Onrs every way. but she cio
My turned away and said she would be an
irS still; but no one else should ever claim
,r from our love. Slowly she arose from ter