Mexico weekly ledger., 1883-04-05
him I loved, a faint feeling Of sadness.

him | loved, a faint feeling of sadness
crept over me as I reflected upon the
act OF leaving my indulgent parents
the home 81 luxury and ease, where
20 many golden days had glided away
in happiness then the predictions
that had neen uttered in regard to our
union, Ill came up before my mind,
filing my heart with mingled fear and
sadness which / could not suppress,
as We journeyed on, leaving that
dear old, old homestead far behind,
never again to be seen by me, Madge,
while l remain upon earth. We
travelled on until morning, whenewe
reached a village where we we're mar-
ried and, from that day my father has
never heard from his Maynard child.
Your father, Of course, lived d sea-
mans life, sailing from time to time,
following up the dreaded vocation,
from which ! had fattered myself,
before marriage, 1 could dissuade
him. But alas! all my attempts were
in vain. The sea had been his cradle
when a babe and the love for his wat
cry home had grown upon him till it
seemed a very part of his existence.
Long and sleepless nights did l spend
while he was away on his voyages,
and my life was worse than death,
knowing the uncertainty of his re-
returns. One night, Madge, ere you
had learned to lisp the name of
Papa" a wild storm swept the sea,
plunging the ship down AN hundred
fathoms Deep and I was left a Wild
ow.' / took every precaution, even
changed my abode, so that no intelli-
gence Of my whereabouts should
reach my father. I have lived I'M
til now upon the little my husband left,
subjecting myself and you, too,
Madge, to many privations, rather
than humble my proud spirit to call
upon my father for assistance, who
can scarcely count the treasures OF
his Golfers. Bring me the paper you
were reading last night, Madge; /
heard you read that he had donated a
large sum to be appropriated to the
relief of widows aud orphans Find
it for me, child, and hold the light
nearer so I can read myself what il
says. My old eyes fail me. Yes,
that is it; that is his name-Richard
7. Weston, of New York. Now,
take your pen, daughter, and write
write that, ere death shall seal my
eyelids forever, that I, his hayward.
erring child, longs once more to be
hold them both-father and mother
Father and mother. All, how sweet
ly familiar those words fall upon my
ear and what a host of childish recol
lections are brought back to my mint
by the u~tterance of those two Names
The voice had subsidized into almos
a whisper and Madge, urging her tt
be silent, administered a stimulant t,
her feverish lips then with a heav,
heart sat down to obey the direction
of her mother.
Three days had passed away sine
the white-winged messenger of jo,
l and sorrow had been despatche
upon its m%ournful mission; and no,
all was sadness aud mourning in Mrs
: Robertson's cottage. Her pale, age
nizing daughter, faint and weeping
: stood by her bedside, with her sma
e hands clasped convulsively, raisin
: her. streaming eyes to heaven, pra.
/ in tremulous accents: go, Goo
e spare my mother" But, alas! Th'
e was a boon that might not be granted
2 Already had Death set his seal upo
the marble brow and claimed her
his own. The delirious spell that hs
so long rested upon the dying suffe
er was, at length, broken. Mr.
Robertson raised her sunken eyes
!. her daughters face and, in a fain
tfaltering tone, inquired:
e "Have they come, Madge""
; "No, dear msmms, not yet:
n sobbed the fair girl.
p 7'Not yet-not yet!' repeated t
d lady. 'sAh, 1 fear they will new
r come, Madge," she said "they
d longer care for me, the erring Oh
er who has brought so much grief a
D. care upon Them"
Ere Mrs. Robertson had finish
/. speaking a loud rap was heard at
n. door. Madge quickly obeyed
summons.
=. fro BE Continued