The Russellville Democrat., 1880-09-30
recognize his lost child? Can heart wrong ever be riphtpd2

n
 me, Clara. Dr. Cutbush wants to make
 you his vife.' Oh, what shock these
 words gave me. l was an impulsive
 seli-willed child. 1 sprang 10 my feet
 and stamping of the electric sparks
 nervously said: If ever am anybody's
 wife l shall be Williams My mother
 cruelty replied: Your old lover has
 proved himself false, like most young
 men l interrupted her 'He5 isn'i
 false; he can't be false. promised him;
 he IS my Lord Maple, and loves music
 and dancing; and-I love him, and can't
 help t.and don't want to- My motherl
 she was skilled in the hearts anatomy She knew every drop of living blood
 must be drawn from it before the sacri- flee could be made. So she stretched me upon the dissecting board and did her work. She made me believe my Lerd had forgotten me; that he loved some Southern lady; said twas all nat ural, and, to clench her argument, re- marked that his letters had long ceased coming. l could have waited for Will liams promised letters and fortune a whole lifetime, without doubt but for my mothers poisoned knife. 1 was writhing Tn blind agony now. 1 had DO understanding of the rich pulsating of | pure, young heart. couldn't see. and my willy mother took advantage of the moment She said, Consider what IS offered you. The noblest man in the city of Philadelphia offers you his heart and hand and you will be his honored wife, and have home in his mansion house-and he says 'tis ample in its accom- modations for me and your two sisters. Can you hesitate. my dear Clara, in the acceptance of this munifcent offerY I was slain lamb now, and of course could make no resistance. The ralsity of my Lord Maple was the pointed lance that palsied my heart. My mother and the good Doctor took the entire charge of affairs. The wedding was to be on my fifteenth birthday. There were two months for preparation. The Doctor came and went in bis usual way, only showing me some more marked atten- ton and kindness. He called me his dear Clara and placed diamond ring on my finger. When he asked me to ride, always said not now My moth- CT was busy with dressmakers. She sold her fathers heavy gold watch and her mothers old-fashloned silyerware to pay my bridal outfit. felt no special interest in any of the proceedings. I was, as 1t were, in trance l was be- wildered.
 "The birthday came its round. It didn't prove wedding-day but so near it the wedding-cake was on the table. and some of the groom's family had ar rived. The bride was sent to her room with dressing maid. The rich coils of hair were fastened with the new bril-. liants, when all of a sudden felt chok- ing sensation. 1 clasped my hands round my throat, saying, 'Neverl Go tell mother.' The astonished maid said. We have no time to lose. Some of the wedding guests are already here, we must hurry the dressing o, I remem. Der it all now. was sufTocating. My mother. in her cruelty, had let one drop of living blood in my poor torn heart, and it was rebelious. I persist ently refused to unite in any wedding ceremony. My mother scolded, stormed. threatened. It was of no avail. The guests were informed the bride was taken suddenly i'll, and the bridegroom, without seeing his distracted child, quietly withdrew. My mother had managed the whole affair, and terrible was her anger and disappointment at my obstinacy. I wept the whole long night. l felt wicked and condemned. l didn't know why had done as did. But know now-the heart was assert ing its rights. William was true. My mother was the false one. On my six teenth birthday I became the wife of Dr. Cutbush. His patience and unwav- ering kindness won my gratitude. He was one of the best men that ever walked this dark earth; he proved the best husband, and l tried to be a happy wife, but never attained higher bliss than contentment. Years hastened their events; my large, benevolent hus- band, to assist friend, put his name to paper, and this deed of kindness cost him his fortune f
 We moved into small cottage. My mother died; William returned to visit his mother his sister sent a card round for me to call on her one morning. went, ignorant of whom l should meet there. We had an interview-my be- loved William had been true--my moth- CT had played base part-she had re- ceived and destroyed his letters My mother! Can she ever repair the wrong she did her child? Can crushed heart be restored to it's sweet roundness? Where is the wasted perfume of it's life? My two beautiful sisters both married. and died one year afterward in giving birth to babe; next, my noble husband died, Dr. Cutbush--the best man taht ever lived; and 'tis comfort to me now, in my barren condition, that he never knew the unsatisfied yearnings of my misled life. Mothers, beware of manag- ing your daughters. Teach them to be true, and leave them free in their pure heart love. After my husbands death, l had hemorrhage of the lungs, and came to this country; recovered my health, and began life here without a friend, and penniless. 1 have a cousin in Spain. Besides him don't know of a relative in the wide world. He is a rich bachelor. own these fifteen slaves, besides some money in the bank. My "wilf' gives freedom to all my negroes, and my remaining property I give to the poor widows of Newburyport, my native town. Ny poor ruined self leave in the hands of my Creator. am interested Tn the experiment. Can He right the wrong that has been done me?"
 Now the fallen woman left my room as abruptly as she entered 1t, and to-day cherish tenderly the little Primrose.h crushed and soiled as she was when met bpr in Cuhn