But no! I am desolate--desolate. Whose
heart clings to mine with the strong tendrils of affection? Who ever
turns to me for a smile? Oh! this world is so cold--so cold!"
And that sensitive being wept passionately, and pressed her hand
upon her bosom as if to still its own yearnings.
Mary Clinton had met with many sorrows; she was the youngest of a
large family; she had been the caressed darling in her early days,
for her sweetness won every heart to love. She had dwelt in the warm
breath of affection, it was her usual sunshine, and she gave it no
thought while it blessed her; a cold word or look was an unfamiliar
thing. A most glad-hearted being she was once! But death came in a
terrible form, folded her loved ones in his icy arms and bore them
to another world. A kind father, a tender mother, a brother and
sister, were laid in the grave, in one short month, by the cholera.
One brother was yet left, and she was taken to his home, for he was
a wealthy merchant. But there seemed a coldness in his splendid
house, a coldness in his wife's heart. Sick in body and in mind, the
bereft one resolved to travel South, and visit among her relations,
hoping to awaken her interest in life, which had lain dormant
through grief.
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