The weekly Butte record., 1863-10-17
Isabel Gray; or the Sensitive Mother.

"When you are married, Isabel, and
have children of your Own, YOU will
then know ho much | love you"
81 know YOU love me, dear mother.
If did rot acknowledge and under
stand your love, what should | be but
the most ungrateful Of living beings q
NO one who is not mother herself
can rightly understand a mother's love.
What you feel for me, and what you
fancy feel for you, comes no nearer
the reality, Isabel, than the chirp Of the
sparrow does to the song Of the night
ingale. The fondest child does not
fully return the love Of the coolest
mother"
Tears came into Isabel's eyes; her
mother spoke in tender, querulous ac-
cents of accomplishing wrong, which
went to the daughters heart. Mrs.
Gray was one Of those painfully intro
spective people who live Oh themselves /;
who think no one loves as they love, no
one suffers as they suffer; who believe
that they give their hearts blood to re-
ceiye back ice and snow, and who pass
their lives in agonizing those they wo'd
die to benefit. A more lonely hearted
woman never, in her own opinion, exis-
ted, although her husband had, she
thought, certain affection from habit
for her; but any real heart symprthy,
any love equal to her fond alteration for
him, was no more like her own feeling
than stars are equal to the monday
sun.
Not bad simile, my DEAR" Mr..
Gray once answered, with his pleasant
smile, ''since the stars are suns them
selves; and if We could change our point
Of view we might find them even bigger
and brighter than our own sun. Who
knows but after all, |, who am such
clod compared to you--who am, YOU
say, so cold and unilnaginative-that
my star is not bigger and stronger
sun than Yours"
His wife gave back pale smile Of
patient suffering, and said sadly: "Ah,
Herbert if You knew what agony
endure when You turn my affections into
ridicule, you would surely spare me-"
The flank ard joyous husband was,
as he expressed it, shut up for the eve
ming" And then Mrs. Gray wept
gently, and called herself the family
Kill joy"
With her daughter it was the same.
Isabel'S whole soul and life were devoted
to her mother. She was the centre
round which that young existence stead
lily rcvolved. The daughter had not a
thought of which the mother was not
the principal object, nor wish of which
her mother was not the actuating spirit;
yet Mrs. Gray could never be brought
to believe that her daughter love equal
ed hers by countless degrees. Isabel
worked for her, played to her, read to
her, walked with her, lived for her.
Duty, my Isabel, is not love, and am
not blind enough to mistake the one for
the other This was all the reward
Isabel received. When she fell in love
as she did with Chall les Houghton, Mrs.
Gray happiness was at an end. Hence
forth her life was one long weak vail of
deSolation. She was nothing now; her
child had cast her out Of her heart, and
had given the dearest place to another;
her own child, her Isabel, her treasure,
her life, her soul. Her hour had passed;
but even death seemed to have forgotten
her. No one loved her now. She was
a down-trodden worm; poor, despiscd
cd woman; an unlovcd, childess wild
ow All, why could She not die What
sin had she committed to be so >orely
tried
Isabel had many sorrowful hours, and
held many long debates with her con-
conscience, asking herself more than
once whether she ought not to give up
her engagement with Charles Houghton,
if its continuance made her mother so
unhappy; also, whether the right thing
was not always the most painful. But
her conscience did not make out a clear
case of Elial obligation to this extent,
for there was duty due to her betroth-
ed and Isabel felt she Lad no right to
trifie with any man. after having taught
him to love her. She owed the first du-
ty to her parents; but she was not free
from obligation to her lover; and even
for her mothers sake, she must not quite
quite forget this obligation. So her
engagement went on, saddened by her
mothers complaints.
My love- said her father, "Hough-
ton mas been speaking to me Of Your
your marriage, today Come into my
study"
Isabel, pale and red by turns, follow
ed her father, dreading both his acqui-
escence or refusal. In one she heard
her mothers sobS, in the other her low
er's despair.
.Hc saws. Bell. that Won have been