Newspaper Page Text
1852.]
THE HEIRLOOM.
“Why do you not have these diamonds
reset, Aunt Ellen ?” asked Kate Burnie,
taking from her aunt’s dressing-case an
antique bracelet. “They are much too
splendid to serve as a setting to that wisp
of dead, discoloured hair. ’Tis like giv
ing a king’s jewelled daughter to a dirty,
clownish boor. You must let me send
them to L’s. and have them reset, or, at
least, have that faded hair replaced by
something more in keening with the bril
liants. They arrange such things beauti
fully there.
“No, no, Kate. That bracelet is an
heir-loom, and that “wisp of laded hair”
is more valuable to me than the diamonds
that enclose it. There are two shades,
you see. The brown belonged to an un
cle of ours, and the dark once hung over
a brow as young and sunny as your own ;
: and—shall 1 say it, Kate? far more beau
tiful. The old bracelet is sadly connected
with our family history, and therefore
sacred.”
“Indeed, aunt! Do tell me the story.
Who was thd lady ? Mamma died when
I was so young, and 1 have seen so little
of her family, that 1 am almost wholly
ignorant of its history.”
“It is four years since you were at
Boyston, and you were then quite a child,
but you can scarcely have forgotten that
portrait in the library upon which you
were wont to gaze so often, and call your
grave Uncle John.”
“Oh, no, indeed! I remember it per
fectly well. A calm, lofty face, with a
lingering look of sternness that was not
quite subdued by the deep mournfulness
brooding in the large dark eves. I re
member it more particularly, because I
had been reading S,ketches of the Early
Christian Fathers , and that face was my
ideal of St. Augustine. It was the face
of a hero, but, if I mistake not, the con
tiict had been with his own heart rather
than mortal foes.”
“Well, the lady of whom I spoke was
his wife.”
“His wife, aunt! Was he ever mar
ried ?”
“Yes, Kate, and more than once I have
seen you pause to read the inscription on
her tombstone, before you entered the
old church.”
What! that plain pillar of white mar
ble under the willow, with the simple in
scription, ‘lsabel, aged 17 V 1 thought
the youg girl buried there was grand
mother’s sister.”
“Your mistake was very natural; 1
j thought the same for many years; but a
j sudden and very painful event, of which
I was the innocent, but most unhappy
cause, made me acquainted with the truth.
“Your mother married when I was
quite a little girl; and, while my broth
ers were absent pursuing their studies, 1
was left quite alone at Boyston, with
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
mamma and Uncle John. But there were
several pleasant families in the neigh
bourhood, and the time passed rapidly
until I reached my eighteenth birth-day.
It was an old family custom with us to
observe all such days, and on this occa
sion the party was to be more splendid
than usual, on account of some friends
from Richmond who were expected to be
present. My young friends and 1 had
teased mamma until we gained her con
sent to close the festivities with a series
of tableaux vivants. The scenes selected
w T ere from Scott’s novels, and for several
days we were busy arranging the irnpor
tent affair of costume.
“On the afternoon preceding the festal
day, my dress-maker surprised me by
the disagreeable information that she
needed more material to finish my dress.
It was impossible to match it in the vil
lage, but, fortunately, I happened to re
member that 1 had sometimes seen, in an
old wardrobe of my grandmother’s, an
old-fashioned silk skirt that would nearly
match the ‘Vicli lan Vohr’ plaid of my
costume, for 1 had the ambition to repre
sent Flora Maclvor in her interview with
Waverly at the spring. The old ward
robe was fuil of old-fashioned disused
garments, but after some search I found
the skirt. As I drew it down, a huge,
old-fashioned pocket fell to the floor. I
picked it up, and was about to place it
on the slmlf, when curiosity induced me
to examine its contents. Among a hand
ful of useless trash, I drew forth this
bracelet. Delighted with my discovery,
I ran hastily down stairs to show it to
V
mamma. As I was crossing the hall I
met Uncle John. I held up my prize,
and w r as about to speak, when his sudden
paleness startled me. Snatching it from
my hand, and leaning heavily against the
wall, he exclained, ‘Thank God, she was
innocent! but I ’he uttered a deep
groan, and, still supporting himself by
the wall, reached the library door and
shut it heavily behind him.
“I was so amazed at the whole alfair—
at the sudden, unaccountable emotion
manifested by one who was invariably so
calm and self-possessed, that I stood for
some moments immoveable, with my
eyes fixed on the door through which he
had disappeared. Then I sought mamma
for an explanation. But she was busy
in the kitchen, superintending the prepa
rations for our fHe. It was nearly an
hour before I found an opportunity to
question her. She started when I men
tioned my discovery of the bracelet,
questioned me particularly as to its form
and appearance, and seemed scarcely less
moved than Uncle John himself. She
mused a few moments, and then hastily
summoning Uncle John’s servant, an old
man who had grown grey in the family,
she spoke a few words to him in a low
tone.
“They proceeded towards the library.
I stole on behind them, anxious to know
why my prize excited so much emotion.
My mother paused at the door, as if irre
solute. At length she bade old r i homas
knock. He obeyed, once, twice, thrice ;
but there was no answer.
‘“lt was so sudden,’ said Thomas, sha
king his head, as if in reply to a glance
from my mother; ‘maybe he has fainted,
or had a fit.’
“ True, Thomas,’ she said ; ‘let us go
in.’
“They entered unobserved, and I fol
lowed. The west window was open, and
near it, in his arm-chair, sat Uncle John,
apparently so much absorbed in contem
plating some object on the desk before
him as not to observe our entrance. Mo
ther, advancing, laid her hand on his
arm, and instantly shrunk back, pale as
snow, lie was dead. One of his hands
still grasped the bracelet, and before him
lay the miniature likeness of an exqui
sitely beautiful woman, or rather girl.
“My dear Kate, you can scarcely con
ceive what a gloom this event cast over
our house. Our /die day was a day of
deep mourning; for lofty, distant, and
reserved as uncle had ever been, he was,
nevertheless, uniformly kind and consid
erate, and was greatly beloved by us all.
The servants especially w’ere strongly
attached to him, and considered his death,
at this time, as peculiaily ominous to
me. Their forebodings were lost on me,
for I was so horror-stricken at the thought
of having occasioned his death, that 1
could feel little else. True, 1 understood
that the bracelet must be connected with
some painful secret. Still, a feeling of
self-condemnation and remorse haunted
me, until 1 became seriously ill.
“Partly to divert the current of my
feelings, and partly to gratify my very
natural, anxious curiosity, my mother
narrated the history of Uncle John as far
as it was connected with this old brace
let. It was as follows :
“Your Uncle John,” she said, “was my
husband’s youngest brother. lie was
quite young when his father died, and re
ceived only a younger brother’s portion
of the estate ; for his family, like many
others in the Old Dominion, clung tena
ciously to the old English notions of pri
mogeniture. Os course he was early des
tined for one of the professions. lie
chose the church. Family ambition would
have been more fully satisfied if he had 1
chosen the law, where his splendid talents
might have elevated him to the highest
offices in the land. But he eschewed le
gal quibbles and party politics, and si
lenced objection by proving his choice
the wisest, the best, and the noblest with
in the reach of man.
“He was naturally firm, independent,
and resolute ; and these qualities, united
to a very ardent and imaginative tem
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