Newspaper Page Text
1852.]
jn a moment —I must tell you what
ra y hither said. We were talking of
James to-night as we came along; and
lie. told me of the old promise you made
each other when we were little child
ren, that —that I should be — really your
daughter some day mother.”
“Oh, Lucy, that has been the hardest
of all. I loved you so, my child, when
you were a little helpless infant, and he
used to stand by the cradle to admire
your sweet baby face, and look up to me
with such innocent w r onder when you
smiled, or moved your little hands; and
as you grew up together, we did not tell
you, lest it should mar our plans, but w r e
all hoped for it.”
“When we played together, and he
drove me home from school on his sled,
or shook chesnuts down for me,” said the
girl, bending down her head thoughtfully.
“How well I remember it all.”
“And he always loved you, Lucy, and
does now, 1 am sure, wherever he may be.
But that hope is gone like many others,”
and she sighed.
“Why should it be gone,” said Lucy,
still thoughtfully, and looking down—
"l have always loved him, mother, and
he will come back to us yet, you know I
always said he would, and who can tell?”
“And would you marry him Lucy ?
Ihe poor wanderer—you forget.”
“No, I forget nothing,” she answered
resolutely—“but that he has wandered,
and is penitent, and I know he will come,
bh, it I could give you one half my faith,
and hope?” she added with sudden en
ergy.
“Bless you for it!—oh, my God !”
It was not a sudden exclamation, every
uord came with thrilling emphasis, as
s * le Wretched forth her arms, and then
hei head fell heavily on the shoulder of
Lt son , who was kneeling before her,
his arms wound about her slender frame,
ali d his eyes raised to her’s with an im-
P 1 ° iing gaze. It needed but one stride
*° Ol ’oss the narrow floor—one instant
h JI all I have told you, to pass; and then
knew that it was no dream, no phan
of a bewildered brain—her son who
as ea d, w r as alive again—the lost was
Lund.
Hei ea S er trembling hands, parted the
t Lh curls that once more clustered over
,s forehead as in boyhood; and then with
18 aims wound still about her, she passed
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
her hand over the dark bearded face, as
she had caressed the smooth cheek of the
infant lying in her bosom ; and then she
began to think clearly, and she looked
around for Lucy.
Ihe young girl w T as standing alone by
the window, looking out on the bleak
plain that was covered with drifted snow.
She tried to be calm,but her whole frame
shook with the effort, and the tears were
swelling in her eyes.
“Go to her, James,” whispered Mrs.
Murray—the first words she had spoken.
She wondered that he drew* back, and
turned pale ; she could see that, by the
bright fire-light, as he looked towards
her ; ;ind then, as if by a sudden impulse,
he went to her side, and bent down, that
he could see her face, saying, sadly—
“l never thought to see you again,
Lucy, save in my daily thoughts, and my
nightly dreams. I came to take my
mother to my new home, where my dis
grace is wiped out by an honest and
useful life. I had determined not to al
low myself even a passing glance of your
dear face, so little changed. Do you
know it is seven years since we parted ?
And, in all that time, you have have
been my angel.”
She looked up to him, a smile strug
gling through her tears.
“You have the same smile,” he said,
not offering to take her outstretched
hand; “the same confiding, child-like smile,
[ so well remember ; and it encourages
me, Lucy, to thank you for your faith,
w T hen all others, but my mother, doubted
me, and for those words of comfort that
have never left my mind. They have
helped me through many a dark hour —
that message, and the thought of my poor
mother, have nerved me, and saved
me from many a temptation. Do you
not see 1 am changed.”
Again she looked up to him, and this
time he did not shun her glance, but took
both her hands, still speaking.
“God bless you, Lucy, and make you
a happy wife. I am not selfish in my
own loss, and you know how I have al
ways loved you —once I might have
asked you to return that love.”
“And why not now ?” she said, the
tears and the smile blending still, as she
did not blush or falter, beneath that ear
nest, but mournful gaze.
He did not tell her why, but he knew
that she understood him, and that nothing
could could change the steadfast love of
man y years—not even the stain that had
fallen on the name she must bear. All
this he read in those dear eyes, that had
so often wept for him, and were now to
be the day stars of anew existence. He
folded her to his strong
throbbing heart, in a silence too deep for
words, or even the first kiss of betrothal;
and then they went together, moved by
one impulse, and knelt at the feet of the
mother, who felt, as she laid a hand of
blessing on ’ their heads, that for all her
afflictions she had received a double re
ward.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Altered erom the old English.
When in Bethle’m, fair citie,]
Chryst was born to die for me,
Then the angels sang with glee—
In Excehis gloria !
Ah ! with what a lovely bright,
To the herdsmen shone the light,
Where he lay in lowly plight—
In Excelsis gloria !
Heavenly King! who saves his kind,
As in Holy Writ we find—
Bear we still his birth in mind—
In Excelsis gloria l
Praying, as we sing, for grace,
To behold in Heaven, His face,
Whose dear coming saved his race—
In Excelsis gloria !
For the Southern]Literary Gazette.
THE AMERICAN OPHIR *
The vein of literary adventure touch
ing California, seems as inexhaustible as
her veins of gold, and —to pursue the
figure —they are both alike worked with
alternating success and failure. This
volume is the plain, unvarnished narra
tive of a miner, who had full experience
of the ups and downs of El Dorado. It
appears from his records that he is a cler
gyman,and accordingly we find him re
peatedly glancing at the moral and reli
gious aspects of the society (if it may be
so-called) about him. The picture is not
an attractive one, though we are happy
to say it is not all shadows.
4 If I were asked what was the state of
religion in the mines, I could only say it
is in no state. There are many men there
w r ho maintain their integrity and their
piety. If there is preaching, it is well
* Sixteen Months in the Gold Diggings. By
Daniel B, Wood. New-York: Harper & Broth
ers. [From Russell.]
15