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pcuoteft to Citcraturc, Science, mib -Ul, tl)c oau3 of temperance, Jfcllorosljip, ittasanrn, anti ©cncral Sntclliqcnce.
VOLUME I
9XXH XH A & f All.
THEWIDOW’S daughter
BY MISS SUSAN A. STUART.
CHAP. I.
(i \ lovely being scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose, with all its sweetest leaves unfolded.”
Byron.
Have vou ever been clear reader in that sweet
little village of A in Virginia? If you have
not I really pity yon, for you have certainly not
seen the sweetest Eden of this earth, where the
4vV is the bluest, the air the purest, and the sun
pets more beautiful surely than ever Italy can
boast. But on second thoughts, I would pitv vou
more had you been there, and been forced to leave
all these delights. There lived my heroine, and
such a heroine ; at the time I shall introduce her to
your notice, kind reader.
It was five o’clock on a lovely spring da v, when
a strikinglv handsome, and distinguished looking
young gentleman, alighted from his buggy at the
irate of Mrs. Morton’s residence in the afore men
tioned village. Charles Lennard had been re
ceived as a hoarder, for the summer months, into
Mrs. Morton’s quiet family circle, as his health
was too delicate to allow him to trust to the preca
rious and uncertain kindnesses shown by the land
ladies in general, of thriving village inns. Some
monied business had called him to A for a
few months, and here he arrived at five o’clock,
on a lovely spring day.
“Bv all that’s pretty, his a little paradise ! ”
was his soliloquy, as he passed through the little
flower garden, with vines that veiled the bird nest
of white neeping out from amid the green foliage,
and thousand tinted flowers, “T hope mv room
overlooks this garden ’twill he delicious to study
hi, with the perfume around me.”
The door was open, and a blue-eved matron
sat sewing in the back part of the hall, who raised
her eves inquiringly, as his shadow darkened the
doorway.
“ Mrs. Morton, T presume?” asked he, as rising
die approached him —“ lam Mr. Lennard, whom
you were kind enough to admit.”
“ fain happv to see vou,” said she, and hospi
tably extended her hand to welcome him, “ Walk
in sir, we are quiet here, Mr. Lennard, but vou
must endeavor to make yourselfat home. Alice,”
ton servant, “take Mr. Leonard’s horses round
to the stable.” Then turning to her guest, she
conducted him into her cosy little parlor, now
filled with the golden moats of the glimmering
sunbeams, that quivered through the foliage that
draped the windows, whilst the atmosphere itself
breathed sweets unnumbered.
Thevchatted on all the common topics—the
weather, the village—’till Mrs, Morton, excusing
herself, attended the whispered summons of a
servant, and Charles was alone. He threw him
self dreamilv and lazily back in the old fashioned
arm chair which stood in the shadow of the win
dow.
A young, glad voice, and a light, bounding step,
broke (jn his reverie, and as he looked around to
see whence came the sounds — bang —in his face
almost, came a heavy wallet, half full of books,
ttnd a ringing laugh of glee from a young fairy,
‘whojust stopped long enough to make him doubt
whether she was angel or mortal, and then again
bounded off like a startled fawn.
Tis our heroine! Edith Morton, releaved
from her duties at the village academy, wild with
repressed play and mischief, who has done him
this favor, and who soon returned with her mother,
blushing and reluctant, to sanction, by her pres
ence, the apology uttered for her.
“lou will excuse mv little daughter, Mr. Len
mrd, she tells me the light dazzled her so much
? he could not see vou, and she has been in the
habit of throwing her books into ibis room, to be
ready for her, as that old arm chair in the window
is her study. Edith speak to Mr. Lennard, my
tell him you are sorry, and hope you
not hurt him.”
I am sure were I hurt, your apologv would he
j u 'h‘nt mv dear madam, which is however, not
t e ca>e. But now let me apologize to Miss Mor
jen nr having unknowingly taken possession of
ner study, which indeed, I must say, is inviting
enough to woo the muses to visit her, with their
klndl y inspiration.”
A gleam of light, like a lurking smile, might
oe detected in the arch eyes of Edith, as she re
i'cd this apology from Charles Lennard. And
nc thought, but did not give words to his thoughts,
V ,lt a bewitching little creature.”
Euiih Morton, though not sixteen, was an
, IA u dte specimen of girlish beauty, as impossi
|. e j° resist as to describe. Her charm did not
l lr ! regular features, her golden ringlets, or
u, r beautifully moulded, and sylph-like form,
. and every one of them adjuncts to
lnme beauty, she possessed in a pre-eminent
ov’ c. But her expression! arch sjyirituellc LIS
useless for me to endeavor to convey the impres
sion she would make on you, with those divine
eyes, lit up in their blue depths, with the sunlight
of her merry heart, or the piquante expression of
that rosy mouth, whose deeply tinted portals,
when wreathed with one of her infectious, heart
beaming smiles, disclosed those even, white little
pearls, looking, as Jonathan Slick quaintly expres
es it, “like a mouthful of chewed cocoa nut.”—
Shy before strangers, from her secluded life, she
became the life of every circle, where she knew,
and was known. Full of mischief, and always
the first in a frolic, her ringing, light laugh, mellow
and sweet, echoed through tiie play ground of the
village school, and might often be heard ere you
caught sight of her, borne aloft in the swing, or!
dancing like a young fairy on the green. Many
were the boy-lovers who bowed at her shrine, and
proffered there the simple, but true offerings of
their young loves.
The evening was passed pleasantly enough
to Charles Lennard, who, at first attracted by
the beauty of our little heroine, was afterwards
amused by her playful and original replies to his
questions, by which he endeavoured to establish
some sort of acquaintanceship between them. He
found her not uneducated, nor unaccomplished,
though raised in that secluded little village. At
the close of the evening, Mrs. Morton requested
Edith to sing, to which request only her mother’s
command forced compliance, and though the
young voice at first trembled, yet ’twas of mar
vellous sweetness. Her smile toe,ns she bade “good
night” to their new inmate, showed him that
already she began to consider bim among her
friends.
“ W hat a nice little wife she will make one of
these days for some happy fellow,” murmured
Lennard to himself, as standing at the window,
overlooking the moon-illumined garden, he found
himself thinking on the exquisitely graceful and
beautiful child. Charles Lennard had no idea,
at that moment of ever loving Edith. She was
too young, too unformed in mind to comprehend
him, and to follow him, as a kindred spirit,
through the abstruse, and trancendent.al range of
thought, in which he loved to engage. Delicate
in health, he contented himself for the present in
weaving bright dreams for the future, in which he
was to plav a most conspicuous part, and we will
not say a vision also of* dazzling eyes, dancing
ringlets, and woman’s light form, did not make a
part of the picture of the dreamy student.
The neat little breakfast parlour of Mrs. Mor
ton, looked fresh as herself, as Charles descended
the next morning to that meal. And there sat
Edith in the old deep cushioned chair, book in
hand, conning her task most zealously; but ever
and anon pushing out her tiny foot to a kitten on
the floor, playful as herself, who seemed very in
tent upon catching it, and whose frolicsome an
tics caused the young student to laugh merrily
ere she again resumed her book. Charles watched
her for a moment, and then exchanging the morn
ing salutations, begged to assist her in her les
sons.
“ Thank you, I have finished them ; I have
been up early. Mother always wishes me to rise
early, that my lessons be prepared in time.”
“ 1 know well,” said Mrs. Morton, “ she will be
obliged every half hour to stop for play, for Edith,
I am sorry to say Mr. Lennard, is a sad idler, and
her examination takes place soon.”
“ No fear mother but what I shall do credit both
to you and my teacher, for when I get in that
horrid old building, where there is nothing pretty
to be seen, I always make up for time lost here.”
As soon as breakfast was over, away went Edith
to the academy, and Charles walked through the
village to see the lawver who had the estate in
which he was interested, in charge.
And so time wore on—monotonous, but yet full
of calm enjoyment to the quiet student, and to
the widow, and her beautiful little daughter.
chap. ii.
“Unto the ground she cast her modest eye,
And ever and anon with rosyred,
The bashful blush her sunny cheeks did dye.”
The hollidays had come, and Edith was at home
for the summer. How pleasant were her antici
pations of the jovous freedom from dull books,
and the restraint of school routine, for months to
come. The ensuing year she was to become a
boarder in a fashionable school in Philadelphia,
and her mother decided that the intervening time
should be spent with her needle in preparation
for that event. Yes, how delightful, as Edith
thought, to sit in that sociable room sewing, where
the air was redolent with perfume, and the sun
shine stole so coyly in through the vine-draped
windows, making shimmering and fantastic fig
ures on the highly polished and waxe oor o
that peculiarly summer room, as the sweejt soul i
wind waved them gently to and fro. Oh, tor her
young heart of hope, the summer air was so
sweet when it came through that window \\heie l
SAVANNAH, GA., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1849.
she loved to sit dreamily, of a lucid, still morn
ing, coming laden with sweets stolen from the
dewy flowers ; and then a glance at those fleecy,
shifting clouds in the deep blue sky, why ’twas
better to her, by far, than the fairy scenes of a
magic lantern or a theatrical spectacle.
And there sat Lennard 100, quite domesticated
by this time, with his book, occasionally reading
passages from his favorite authors, and child as
she was, looking into Edith’s eyes for sympathy
in his enthusiasm. Nor was music’s soft strains
neglected to gild the passing hours. There, in
the witching hour of the summer twilight, still,
soundless, save the low melody gushing from
Edith’s bps, as she sung to her simple accompani
ment uu the guitar, and with the fuller, deeper
tone of Charles’ voice, they sat, wrapt in the pres
ent, unconscious, at least ono of them, of the feel
ings rife within their hearts, of what heightened
their enjoyment. Edith uas unconscious , she was
fully aware, it is true, that life was gaining every
dl O o
a y new charms for her. To her eye, the blue
vault had never looked so deeply, darkly, so in
tensely blue as now ; the birds had surely never
sung so sweetly, nor the very flowers worn so
b right aline. And yet, to all appearance, she
was not so gleeful or so wildly frolicksome as
usual. No longer would you hear through the
house or garden, the ringing laugh and the mirth
ful carol, and yet, in her heart, what a spring of
happiness was bubbling up, almost to overflowing,
quietly, unknown to others ; but thrillingly alive
to herself; so intense at times, that those sweet
eyes would glisten with unshed tears at the
thought that death might come and bear her off
from so bright, so joyous a world, when life itself
was such bliss. Her quietness—her fitful and ra
diant blushes—l he soul-full glances—the manner
that was stealing so softly, yet so perceptibly o’er
the young girl, toning down, as it were, her high
spirits, was noticed by ihe mother, but her con
clusion was simply, “that Edith is growing into
a woman, and will not be such a hoyden as 1
dreaded.”
Edith was unconscious! but not so the dreamy
student. He, though albeit as much a child in
the actual business and cold realities of life as
Edith, was better skilled in the heart’s love. He
had seen the kindlin x cheek, at his approach, had
watched the flash of joy which brightened her
eye, and the smile of womanly sweetness wreath
ing her exquisite lips at his glance or words of
warm approval. He had become, wtth Mrs. Mor
ton’s glad acquiescence, Edith’s instructor in
Fren h, and he saw how anything but weariness,
was ihe daily task ; and in the solitude of his
chamber stole welcomely into his mind the thought,
ihat he had taught her practically , to congugatc
through nil its inflections, the verb aimer.
Mrs. Morton very often complained that Edith
neglected her sewing for her book, her guitar, her
evening rambles ; but she was the widow’s only
child, her bright gleam of sunshine, and her idle
ness was overlooked, and she was allowed to
have her own will and to be the constant compan
ion of Charles Lennard.
’Twas a moonlight evening in the latter end of
October, Edith and Charles, with Mrs. Morton
and an elderly lady, on a visit to her, had ram
bled about a quarter of a mile from the bustle of
the lillie village, to a place called the cool spring,
to enjoy one of the summer nights that October
had stolen. Delighted with the beauty of the
lovely, sequestered spot, where ihe moonbeams
rested so brightly and reflectingly on the rustic
spring, bubbling up from the green sward, now
hiding in the thick leaves, now revealing itself by
its glitter; that they set themselves down on the
rucie bench near the spring, chatting and recall
ing reminiscences of “ lang syne” (I mean the
old ladies) Charlesand Edith were standing some
distance from them, watching the silver tops of
moon touched trees. Very quietly had they stood
drinking in the beauty of ibis enchanting scene,
where no sound was heard save the hum of the
village, borne but echo’ngly to their ears, and
the rustling of the foliage as it was kissed by /he
night breeze.
“Edith, dear Edith,” said alow voice, “Is
ihis not beautiful! Does it not whisper to you,
as to me, that here would I be content to live, to
die, with thee dearest, at mv side ! ”
A quick, eager, flashing gaze, as her eye was
raised for a moment, was his answer. ’Twas
ihe look of some wondering and awakened child
that Edith wore, as the consciousness of her feel
ings towards Charles stole upon her, beautiful,
though strange! and something of gladness was
in the melody of her childlike, trusting, low
toned voice, with which she breathed, rather than
uttered “ oh yes.”
“ Dearest Edith ! ” was all that Charles said for
some moments, as he held the little trembling
hand in his own, then placing it within his arm,
he drew her to the shade of a large tree, under
whose foliage lay the fallen trunk of an oak, upon
which they sat.
“Dearest,” he again said, as she, wiih down
cast eyes, blushing in the dim light that reached
them, at his impassioned tones and loving words,
“ promise me that you will love me and think
fondly of me for the next two years 1 am doomed
to wander ? Then, when I have fullilled my
guardian’s wishes, that you will be my wife ?
My own Edith say ? ”
You could almost hear the beating of that
young heart, as she thus sat listening at his side,
shrinking in trembling from the arm thrown round
her waist, and turning in timid modesty, from the
eyes looking so ardently loving, into the glisten
ing depths of her own, striving to hide her feel
ings from those fondly searching eyes. And
01 larles. with the ligbtening’s rapidity, came into
his mind the words of the puet *.
“She loves me much, because she hides it ;
Love leaches cunning even to innocence ;
And when he gets possession, his first work
Is, to dig deep within the heart, and there
Lie hid, and like a miser in the dark,
To feast alone.”
“ You will forget me long ere you come hack,”
was her answer to this reiterated appeal, “ why
need I then to answer you,” and there was a tear
almost in the liquid voice, as a vision of what her
hue would be, should such prove the truth, arose
before her mind’s eye.
Forget you ! Do you judge me by yourself
Edith, w hen you say that ? ”
“Oh no!” was the impulsive reply of the
young maiden, as she hastily and unthoughtedly
answered him, “Oh no, indeed! But you Mr.
Leonard, are going to Europe, and you will see
•here so very many persons to make you forget
me —a school girl—an ignorant child ! 1 was
ashamed of myself before you, to think I knew
so little, so very little, and you — you will
blush for my ignorance yourself, and then, bow
could you love me ?”
How sweet were those tones, so full of heart
music, that he —luxuriating in them, hesitated to
answer, that he might catch even their echo ; but
at length came his reply, “ How could I love you !
rather ask how can, how could I help it ! You are
to me, more perfect than any human being lever
dreamed of or imagined. So lovely Edith, that
when you burst on me in your angelic loveliness
I doubted if vou indeed belonged to our dull
earth. How could, 1 love you ! what a simple ques
tion, yet deep in its very artlessness, with another
meaning. Yes dearest, I .almost ask myself the
question, how I could dare to love one so like an
angel, that I will not dwell on my unworthy self,
lest I should say :
“ ’Twere as well to love some bright, particular star,
And think to wed it.”
But promise me that you will love me, that you
will think ever of me; and that when I return
you will be my wife ? ”
“ You must ask mother—l cannot answer you
—it almost frightens me, though ” —and the
young head, with its golden ringlets, bent low as
she whispered, “ I love you better than any one
in the world. Let us go Mr. Lennard to mother,”
she quietly added, startled as it were, by her own
confessions, and springing lightly from him, as he
attempted still lo retain her with his honied words,
and almost nestling down by her mother’s side
like a truant dove returned ; and yet, her heart
healing with the fullness of joy at the sweet
knowledge she had thus gained, her eyes lit up
with the love conned from the new page ot the
book in her life, of which she had but then been
learning. And Charles stood by Iter, even more
eloquent in his silence than when he had wooed
her ’neath the old tree.
“ But they were young ; oh, what without our youth
Would love be ?—what would youth be without love ?
Youth lends it joy, and sweetness, vigor, truth,
Heart, soul, and all that seems as from above.”
CHAP. 111.
“Ah me ! what is there in earth’s various range,
Which time and absence may not sadly change.”
Events mark time more than years. Edith
arose the next morning, after Lennard’s declara
tion, a woman. Child in years still, with a wo
man’s loving, devoted heart. Mrs. Morton had
been informed, much to her surprise, of his pro
posal to her daughter, by Charles, and though
predjudiceM in his favor, demurred in giving her
consent to their engagement, on account of Edith’s
youth. Charles had informed her of his family,
his fortune &c., and she, at last, won by his ear
nest entreaties, gave her permission for the young
lovers to correspond during Charles’ tour, and
her consent to their marriage at his return.
And now we must hurry over the subsequent
weeks that followed, before Mr. Lennard’s depar
ture, nor do we design giving an account of their
parting, which eventually look place the latter end
of December.
January found Edith at her new school, and her
days glided on tranquilly and hopefully. She was
early and late at her studies. Her French, her
music were entered into with indomitable will, as
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