The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-12-08

secrecy, the place of her child's resi-
dence had been intrusted TO her, anS
she had found means to see it unsuspect
ed, from time TO time, before her hus
bands departure.
Now, when she was going in agony o
spirit TO seek the father, she could no
depart without embracing his chill,
once more, and, with its little hand
around her neck, praying God to bles
her mission. Urged by these keen de
sires, Zulima threw scarf around her
and drawing down her veil, entered tn,
streets of New Orleans. The houst
where her child lived was in the sub
urbs, and she was obliged to cross III,
city, With quick step she threaded
the streets, needless of observation, anC
only desirous of reaching her child be
fore the brig was ready to sail.
Was it fate, or was it that sublime in
tuition that belongs TO the higher ordel
of feelings, which led poor Zulima BY
one of those large Catholic burial place
in New Orleans which seem TO open tn,
way to eternity through a paradise o
flowers
1t must have been the spiritual es
sence in her nature, for as the young
mother passed this beautiful place oi
death, she looked eagerly through the
gates, and something impelled her TO en-
ter.
A wilderness of tombs, draped anC
garmented with vines all in blossom, anC
shrubs that exhale perfume from every
leaf, lay before her, and at that momen
death looked so pleasant to poor Zulim;
that she longed TO lie down and let hel
heart stop beating where so many has
found quiet rest.
These reflections brought tears to he
ewes; she felt them dropping fast be
meath her veil, and entered the euclos-
ure that no one might see her grief
Slowly aud sadly she wandered on
forgetful of her purpose, and possessed
of vague idea that her errand led Nc
further.
A strange and dreamy sensation crep
over her, the vigor of her limbs gave
way, and sweeping the purple clusters o.
passion flowers from one of the marble
slabs. she sat down. Zulima put aside
her veil, and began to read the inscrip
ton upon the tomb while listlessly pass
ing her fingers through the deeply cut
letters.
1t was an infants tomb A child
eighteen months old lay beneath the
marble. Eighteen months-that was
the age of her child, her little Myra
She started up. 1t seemed as if her
weight upon the marble could injure
the little sleeper Carefully drawing
the passion vine over the stone again
she turned away, aud was about to de
part.
But that instant there came bound
ing along the vista of a neighboring
walk young child, evidently rejoicing
over its escape from some person who
might have controlled its actions. In
and out through the fowery labyrinth
it departed, its chestnut curls floating
on the wind, its blue sash, loose at
one end, sweeping the toabs at every
turn.
The child, at last, felt evidently quite
secure from pursuit, for, leaning Tor.
ward upon one tiny foot, she peered
roguishly through the branches, and
burst into a clear ringing laugh that
sounded amid the stiffness like the sud
den gush of a fountain.
Through and through Zul;ma's heart
rang that silvery shout; eye, lip and
cheek lighted up to the sound; she
reached forth her arms - "Myral My
rar'
The child heard her name, and turned
like startled fawn, still laughing, but
afraid that the black nurse had found
her. When she saw only a beautiful
woman, with eyes brimful of tears, and
outstretched hands, the laugh fled from
her lips, and fixing her large brown eyes
wonderingly on the strange face for q
moment. she drew timidly toward the
tomb by which Zulima stood.
My child my own dear child !!
broke from the lips of the young mother
and sinking upon her knees, she snatch
ed the little girl to her bosom, covering
her lips and forehead with kisses.
"Do you love me? Myra, do you love
me?" she cried, holding back the face
of the infant between both her trem
bling hands, and gazing fondly on il
through her tears; do you love me, My
raj"
At first the little girl was startled by
the passionate tenderness of her mother
and she struggled to get away from the
bosom that heaved so tumultuously
against her form; but, as this touching
cry of affection broke from Zulima's s
lips, the child ceased to struggle, and
lifting her eyes with wondering pity, she
clasped her little hands over her moth
er's neck, and to her trem bling lips
pressed that little rosy mouth.
Don't cry so, do love you" lisped
the child, in its sweet, imperfect lang
uage.
Those pretty words unlocked a flood
of tender grief in the mothers heart
She arose, with the child in her arms
and sat down upon the tomb. Smile,
now broke through her tears, and dur
ing fifteen minutes it seemed to Zulima
as if she had passed through that place
of tombs into paradise, so sweet was the
love that flooded her heart with every
lisping tone of her child.
But for the poor mother there was nC
lasting happiness.
While her bosom was full of thest
sweet maternal feelings, there came tear
ing through the shrubbery a negro
woman, painting with haste, and shout
ing in a coarse voice the name of little
Myra.
'We must part, my child" murmureC
Zulima, turning pale, as the woman
caught sight of her charge from toml
which she had mounted to command {
view of the grounds, and with degre'
of self command that was wonderful
even to herself, she arose, and led the
little girl forward.
ooh, Miss Myra, Miss Myra" crieC
the negress, snatching up the little CIR
and kissing her with degree of eager
ness that made poor Zulima shudder
''what should / have done had you beer
lost in earnest p
Myra struggled to get away, and held
out her arms to Zulima. How pale th'
poor mother was! Her eyes sparkleC
though at this proof of fondness in he
child, and taking her from the woman
she kissed her forehead, and leading he
a little way of, bent down with hanC
upon those bright ringlets, and called
down a blessing from God upon hel
daughter.
All those blessings, what holy thing
they are! The sunshine they pour forth
how certain it is to flow back to th'
source, and fiji it with brightnessl i
''curses are like chickens that alway
come home to roost," are not blessing
like the ring doves that coo most tender
ly in the nest that shelters their birth
For many a day while tossed upon th'
waters, Zulima was the happier for hav
ing seen and blessed her child.
To be continued