The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1866-05-31

1t needed not many preliminary words
to explain to me the object of his coming.
The news of my fathers trouble had
reached him in distant part of England,
where he had, through the influence OF
.Wildrcd's tathor, obtained a curacy on
the latter's quitting Cambridge. Full OF
sympathy for our misfortunes, he had
lost no time in fastening to Eldoun' to
proffer consolation and advice, and to i'm
plore mo once more-true and constant
heart Ito share his lot, now more pros
porous than MY own. AS yet, he was
ignorant of our intended emigration.
"It cannot be, john" answered, try
ing to speak firmly. "God bless you tor
your generous offer; but it cannot be
My place is with my honorcd parents
now; and I could never bear to see them
SET sail for that distant land alone"
aBut must they go?" asked poor John,
entreatingly. "Can nothing be done for
them here W
"No, my good friend" replied my moth
er, steadfastly. Call is arranged now I;
our passage is taken, and we must follow
the destiny which is leading us on. But,
Flora, my poor child" she added, regret
fully, at grieve to stand in the way of her
prospect of happiness. Perhaps, even
now"
aMother," I interrupted, laying my
hand upon her arm, "do not try to shake
nv resolution. 1 must 60 with you and
papa. And believe me, Mr.. Owen, that
is now my true and only reason for turn
ing a deaf ear to your ploadings. am
wiser, if sadder, than was year ago."
"Is it indeed so?" said John. "Do you
love me at last, my Florence Then /
can bear all, even this bitter disappoint-
ment; and, believe me, my darling, that
the very act which destroys my hopes
raises you higher than ever in my esti-
nation. Farewell, Florence! May Heav-
en- bless your good work, and prosperyou
all p
He turned to my father and mother
and warmly shook their hands. Then he
paused before leaving the room.
Gone kiss, Florence" said he; "itis the
last time"
What could do but yield? For one
instant he strained me to his heart, the
next he had left mo, and the wind moan
ed sadly round the gables and the nigh
fell darkly round.
1t was glorious evening in July. Al
around spoke peace to the tried and tiret
spirit, and filed it with the inefable calm
which sometimes comes through the me
dium of quiet and beautiful scenery tx
the heart which, amid all its worldly
cares, has not lost the freshness OF it
love for holy nature. Tears rose unbid
IVv S tlllIuDs W Uuo TantfSU1IPU w1IlUu roy
fore me, bathed in the golden light o
sunset-tears that were not all sorrowful
and memories of the old dear days at Ell
doun for time dispelled the recollection
of many n heavy and scathing trial which
had come to me during the last sever
years. All, me! was only fve-and
twenty, yet my youth-time seemed very
far away-so much had come and gon'
in that seven years. The first long ~
age, the Australian experiences, which
had promised brightly at first, until ma
ignant fever swept away my father, aun
and uncle in a few days; the sorrowfu
leaving of our dead in their lonely buria
places in the bush and the subsequen
return of my widowed mother and my
self-a second Naomi and Ruth-to tht
old country, still called home, though of
fering now no certain homo to either O
MS; all this outline, filed with crowd O
attendant details, seemed to compress {
life's history into the space have men
toned.
And now my dear mother had found s
home with her own kindred, and the same
refuge had been offered to me; but my
nature rose in proud rebellion against
life of dependence on others. Conse
quontly I had sought and obtained sit
uation as governess. My new abode was
in picturesque part of Devonshire, and
something in its bowery lanes and sunny
fields reminded me irresistibly OF my girl
hoods home. I was much better walk
er than were my little pupils, and on the
evening have mentioned I was on my
l:a4an4 r.llnoro ohnrnh If 1uas