Life in the Grey Nunnery at Montreal | Page 2

he think that
in so doing he was warming in his bosom a viper whose poisonous
fangs would, ere long, fasten on his very heart-strings, and bring down
his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. His only child was a lovely
daughter of fourteen. From what I have heard of her, I think she must
have been very beautiful in person, quiet, gentle and unassuming in her
deportment, and her disposition amiable and affectionate. She was
exceedingly romantic, and her mental powers were almost, if not
entirely uncultivated; still, she possessed sufficient strength of
character to enable her to form a deep, ardent, and permanent
attachment.
The young stranger gazed upon her with admiring eyes, and soon began
to whisper in her ear the flattering tale of love. This, of course, her
parents could not approve. What! give their darling to a stranger?
Never, no, never. What could they do without her? Grieved that their
kindness should have been thus returned, they bade him go his way,
and leave their child in peace. He did go, but like a thief he returned. In
the darkness of midnight he stole to her chamber, and bore away from
the home of her childhood, "a father's joy, a mother's pride."
Who can tell the anguish of their souls when they entered that deserted
chamber? How desolate their lonely hearthstone! How dark the home
where her presence had scattered rainbow hues! A terrible blow it was
to Capt. Willard; a very bitter thing thus to have his cherished plans
frustrated, his brightest hopes destroyed; to see the very sun of his
existence go down at midday in clouds and darkness. Yes, to the stern
father this sad event brought bitter, bitter grief. But to the mother--that
tender, affectionate mother, it was death. Yea, more than death, for
reason, at the first shock, reeled and tottered on its throne; then, as days
and weeks passed by, and still the loved one did not return, when every

effort to find her had been made in vain, then, the dread certainty
settled down upon her soul that her child was lost to her forever. Hope,
gave place to despair, and she became, from that time, a raving maniac.
At length death came to her relief, and her husband was left alone.
Six weary years passed over the lonely man, and then he rejoiced in the
intelligence that his child was still living with her husband at St. John's.
He immediately wrote to her imploring her to return to her old home,
and with the light of her presence dispel the gloom of his dwelling.
Accordingly she left St. John's, and in company with her husband
returned to her father. I was then about a year and a half old, but I have
so often heard these facts related by my father and grandfather, they are
indelibly impressed on my mind, and will never be erased from my
memory.
My mother now thought her trouble at an end, that in future she should
enjoy the happiness she once anticipated. But, alas for all human
prospects! Ere one short month had passed, difficulties arose in
consequence of the difference in their religious opinions. Capt. Willard
was a firm Protestant, while my father was quite as firm in his belief of
the principles of the Roman Catholics. "Can two walk together except
they be agreed?" They parted in anger, and my father again became a
wanderer, leaving his wife and child with his father-in-law. But my
mother was a faithful, devoted wife. Her husband was her heart's
chosen idol whom she loved too well to think of being separated from.
She therefore left her father's house, with all its luxuries and
enjoyments, to follow the fortunes of one, who was certainly unworthy
of the pure affection thus lavished upon him. As her health had been
delicate for the last two years, she concluded to leave me with her
father for a short time, intending to send for me, as soon as she was in a
situation to take care of me. But this was not to be. Death called her
away, and I saw my mother no more till her corpse was brought back,
and buried in her father's garden.
Two years I remained with my grandfather, and from him, I received
the most affectionate and devoted attention. My father at length opened
a saloon, for the sale of porter, and hired a black woman to do his work.
He then came for me. My grandfather entreated that I might be allowed
to remain. Well he knew that my father was not the man to be entrusted
with the care of a child--that a Porter House was no place for me, for he

was quite sure that stronger liquors than porter