The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1875-08-01


Dick then broke the seal Of the Letter, and
again Rose turned away her face. few
clips Of paper fell ont as no unfolded the pack
age these he gathered mp without looking ss
them, and then. calling Roses name once more,
he read in o low voice. from the yellow paper
his mothers letter:
my Dear Child.-I have put aside o few lit,
tie things that have been treasures to me, ana
% may not live to see the day when can
give them TO you, write few lines with them,
which possibly may come 70 your eyes some
creeping around my feet and trying to climb
mp my dress Is / write, and am SO week
woman that may hardly stoop to raise my
darling to my lap. 1t is hard for ME, seeing
you so. to write to- you as man and what
kind of q man have NO way to judge. fear
shall not live long enough to leave any I'm,
preston of your mothers face upon you ana
what will become of you, my own dear child,
| in this terrible world after am gone, dare
not think. You are 30 tender and good now
that cannot realize that you S %,I o SnaD goi
| put your arms up to me, your brown, hard nt-
tie arms, as if to beg me not to speak of this,
and will try to believe that God will save
you through everything; so that when you
| read this, you will be one whom would be
| proud to own if lived.
"You are my greatest comfort, and such
comfort! 1t seems as If you knew everything,
and could console for everything; and often !
think that for you 1 shall in some way ma
strength to struggle on for few years more
Dear Child, know not how much OF how little
| to tell YOU. I would like to write volumes for
you, that you might know me in the future
days when no father, mother. or brother VIII
be near TO help you in your troubles. But can
only write little.
al have been married Eve years, and you are
my oldest but not my only child. You have
sweet little sister asleep on the bed. lssy the
words to you aloud, and you creep on tiptoe TO
look at her, turning and smiling at me as you
CO. Even if she should live after am gone,
W ich 1 cannot wish for, cannot tell whether
you will be kept together; it not, know you
will care for her it it is possible, If only be-
cause your dead mother asks it, cannot be-
lieve the wonderful child-love you have for
your heart can ever grow hard, your heart SC
) tender now. Therel kiss the dimpled hand
ever so softly and come away, for you must
!, always, let what may be her fatef Remem
Der always. she had no mother to guide her
Your father have not seen for two years
!" since Mamie was q few months old. l hav'
g since heard that he is dead. know none o.
. | his relatives; for he brought me an eutlrs
1 stranger to New York three years ago, ane
seemed IN willing that L should make many
n AGO uaintan have no relatives whom
have ever seen, in the world, except my fatne
& who lives or did live, at Wiltshire, in Maine
do not know if he is living or not hav
IA written to him again and again, but L hav
~ beard not hing from him. He would have com
IL to me if he were alive, for he was always de
v voted to me. I could write you HUNDRED
IN letters aOOnt Ms love anu uSVOblon anu No"
:. if could only iet him know where am, h
IL would come to me wherever he might be.
~ have named you for him. lie saw you one
~ ~hen you were month old be came and too
me home Cor the sumner he loved you deal
ly, as he loved me, and was proud enough
e. you. Ii only l could put you and Mamie i
er ms hands now, how coutentedly could die
j., For this toiled and struggled from the day
"o saw your father last, until this poverty an
Mt sickness have killed all hope. Not all hope
o. Tor think every step hear-and hear thol
,+ | sands passing by-that my father has come
W. me to save me. to take my darlipgs under b
BAL care, and to let me die on my own white be
81 in my own dear room at home.
cd ''Tnere, darling there's no more to tell. WI
0o should tell more You come of good bloc
'eo my child, of q brave, upright race. My chill
ion my darling, put your arms tight, tight aroor
mammas neck, and promise for the man tn
49,. you will be worthy of your name and race.
100, good, be true be honest. How should blu
of in my grave, it seems to me, if child of mir
lid, if these dear children, so pure and innooeI
should soil their White souls with falsehoc
but deceit, OF dishonesty. God knows what
would cay. FAtherless, motherless, mt
leave my little ones no earthly help, no co
'eS" fort, nothing, only the one hope that will I
,at- leave me to my latest breath, that my fatt
ybo lives, will and me out, save me, and take CO
ing of You L.. nssn hard for ma to writ, tbis no
old childish letter one poor apple-womau--po
the liyet not go poor MS has been my only frlen
49, to her have talked for houre ct you, and
l
,se's for you two. God will aid her, know. "
vas not put any 'good-byes' on paper so little
- ly ever to be seen by your eyes bat '
neo Kiss you Thousand times, my darling, viii
to take one last look ss these portraits of y
en- father and me, you leaning against my H.
shn looking at them toe. YOu, pure. unsull
sne child, shall cling to me, and answer, thou
tory you cannot understand, thepromises to be &
10 o ask of you to fulfil through all your
To- Your mother,
LOT "MARY HEREMoRE BRANDON
very
80 "Brandon -" repeated Rose and Dick
ia gether, when he read the signature. 7
Dick read the slips of paper that had ia
aid ont of the letter they were all the IS
rtar notices of her marriage from different pap
"MARRIED.-AS the residence of the bri
father, on Wednesday, May 5th. Charles B
went don, of New York, to Mary, only daught'
firth. DIR. Richard HeremOre, of Wiltshire, Maiot
Will Rose looked at Dick almost with terro
flee, her face. Dick knew not how to answer
and, &C IL NAV mot he the aameD abe Raid at