Erie weekly observer. (Erie [Pa.]) 1853-1859, May 21, 1853, Image 1

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— Td iet Vottrt).
Spurr the lines which sorrow traces:
laugh the ills of life Werelj. •
They who wear the gladdest fano •
tlssys lire the longest day.
Why c omplain. , thangh tbstatic press thos ?
Why repine at lowly birth,
Mule contentment still essay bides dm*
With the joys of pealing mirth
Art thou rich in pounds and rubles?.
Dort thou sleep'on beds of down?
Laugn t., see how wain the boobies
Which deceive the gaping slows.
What though now thy years are many,
And thy locks are taring gray;
Haat thou not s hops or any
Joy beyond thy mortal day f
Thou last dreamed perhaps aeon;
Fate has held thee ander boa;
soil unknown to song or story -
Thou moat be a merry man.
Tell not after gilded wiser;
Let not woe thy sold ;
r“r the earth is fall of Oases.
offered thee wlthowt IL prink
It :Ft thou speak of eaves and troalbllsa ?
rare• and troubled, whay disy
Notlong more that Ileadag babbim, .
tcna•6 a laugh may drip) away. . .
Laugh. and awls the Paw to liatoa •: 7
guot all gloomy &licit/ down ;
Thu! !hull Tire forget to hasten,
And e'en DEATH relax his frown.
(]toict Visttilaugl
r •,f -Dream-Land by Daylight;" "The:Children."
;From M B.WM►t 'Weekly 5...)
w in a school at a convent.
1. my record to be a setting forth of creeds?—
igels and Ministers of Grace defend me"
omething lieside -creeds to write about at
..-nt—myself. My ambition is not to make
lct •s—it never was—nor am I purposing to
..he "Story of a Soul."
Tale - I have to offer will appea; ,VerY like
lleetion of fragments. You have iheard of
T A rapids? Like Ahem, the leading incidents
Sum lives tower above the dead level of the
Like them, the incidents of my life tower
memnrr.. What secures for vanished time a
mmy creature'n re))ollection? The bone
kindled—the bonfires that we kindled; the
of ambition, and pride, and passion, for
ne tumuibi in iititich engaged; Vie bun-
•h a t kid a climax; the feasting and- revalry,
v". 4-tut wild with delight; the marriage
hial, that particularly cotteerned
61i , i; tho 1, we which perchance was still brief
u burials that were speedily per
-I.oA:back—only look back, and survey
path , . ki r which you have come thus far, you
-ee psi also have lived by snatches—
•ar experience has likewise beewfragmen-
V.O will understand . that while making
-moral it has been with me as thong*, I
',king through the "wavering vistas of a
, 11 . -,-gazing on the phantoms - of "Shadow
1-tate,l to Charlotte Winslow, I haii!been
, Vravent four years: But for all that I
Romanist—am not—nor ever shall be.
an. , I there then? "Thereby hangs this
I: ra, a c , ,mfortable home. Could i then do,
nr . - than love it? A comfortable home--
14-k and what meaning have those words!
had recollections which I had serer
a-Ith ruy school-mate during those four
ei of these -were sad, and some of
u , rt gro ions, and some—how terrible!—
. •!, the -re were very bright and beautiful.
I ..,r‘t entered St. Mary's as a.pupil and
the scholars there assembled ad
• • , r i-y ul inc in. their studdies,"and, for.
1.... rt, much older than I, that I did
1.. z.„ • h.• friendship,hardly to association of
7 % w t't th to: 1 was alone—l , felt !lope
•t•-• a t •tal:ving: 1 had a protector who
k, Loy safety, if not my life. I
• Itrppy hearts, bright &beg. nrITY
•TM• 4.r.! ail around me, and a stranger-tatot
not have singled me from
a, obviously not of the group
m. This was much. But the
h :j in my . m e mory. - Like a ruin
, i,• creeps=while the world knows
ruiu or the vine.
with me. I lived ski& in my na4
I ' ' Hut s hen my Chariot& came! in
;1;. :rank, eartlesm of the opinions of th
1 i 1,, 3,1 upon with moist dread; cs
1. ill turn the school-girls tyraist, i
he r those she loved, too far.
t"'''. and, perceiving my loneli
.lake with nie, and - thought , •
me. began to .live a new a
, arlier recollections I would ape
rt I had lived on the banks of the
I_ 7 .a a t ful and' Weaned .home. I had
(punier, where villainy . , and
can congregate. I had lived on
plaiu., of peace, and lit a drawler abode
r.i. du portray. But not only poverty,
4,1 , vrry depredation were around us
''." 11 14 u•t in the see, and rnocking, and
OW great Heaven! as I.ponder at
nt ~t 1 the myriads helplessly Some, as
",•• I 0 .1 rerdstless fate through the avenues
• ,v,u, down to the mespool of creation
th, human nature becomes almost of ne
:, br u t h,h, and the soul to all outward seem-
It appvars to me most marvelous, it seems
rt•kitlMl, that the crying of those poor u
thwart's 'rune, Amid sot appal sad
'firt tile heart of that yea eitat. it should
44 suite its people , to seise ea otoo somo to tla
` ti tut and
,salntios et ihe heaths" y jW lisidot• '
We lived on the beaks ot the
Hogision s,
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house was fashioned in Gothic style. It
stood on a prominent height, and from the river
did not look unlike pictires of castles I have seen.
The grounds belonging to the place-extended in
land to some distance, and along the river bank
nesily half a mile. Down the bank was my fa
iher's boat house, and Joseph and I had our play
house close beside it. Distinctly to this day do
I reeollset the walks my mother and myself had
on the great piazza id the mornings when we
watched the steamers that went up and down the
river—the white sails of the schooners, how beau
tifally they were! I remember how the sunlight
fell upon the lawn those summer mornings when
the dew was on the grass, and the trees were full
of singing birds. It. Was on that piazza in the
summer time, that we learned our lessons, Joe and
I, and there we recited them to our mother--our
mother who was young then, and as happy and
gsy-hearted as her children.
This home ind all that surrounded it, filled
my mind with images of beauty. The squirrels
which we chased through the grove; the splen
dor of the autumn woods; the days we went nut ,
Ling in them; the gorgeous pictures presented by
the opposite beaks of the Hudson, in the spring
and autumn—these are things I can never' forget.
My motheriwas a lovely and accomplished
woman. She b id a sweet, firm voice, full of mel
ody. The sons she ushd. to sing for ns, accom
panied her guititr, wheni father took us , out for a
mil upon liver , ti ger yet in my thoughts,
though *0 ind tunetsre loot.
But ourwast e glory of our house.—
He was our old. - worshipped him. 'Hie
word was our law is • was our pleasure.—
Ohr mother's devotion to him was our example.
It was by love and not fear that he reigned in all
our hearts-
. These were out days end years of perfect hap-
piness. They came to en end: ,
We removed, for whack purpose Joseph and I
endeavored in vain to :;prehend, from our lone
ly home to a small h further Op tie river,
further inland also. Ide not recollect the ei"eitts
immediately preceding the, removal, but well do
I. remember the day i t u it took plasm. We
went in the carriage; fati r and mother, Ruth our
untie, and we children. ' It was like going to a
funeral--scaroely a word - erten, but a great
many tears were shed. ' - .
In the new place we only a bit of garden
ground. No grove, no gsp ndid flowers, no lawn,
no hood, no joy. Ev ing we prised most in
the old home was left beh dus there: Not one
of the pictures mother l e ved so well, not even
those she had painted, went with us—only a fei
of the plaiieet pieces of furniture, and the dog
Nero. - This was Joe's Effie 'iiel . aiilinal. — CO
birds, and the beautiful Newfoundland dog, the
ot - tbre've things we lost sight
hind ue. The place, • - •ti
been ' sold. We were a ruined family, driven
from. our Paradise, and the sword of . the law_ ex
cluded us.
In the new home we must have lived a year or
more, when the won't of all misfortunes fell upon
us. Our father was taken tansy from us. • - •
What had become of li . He bid not . been
ill - he was not dead—he t from home wide
other gentlemen, andtint mother wee very
ill fpr many days, sad we a dreary time sit
ting lathe kitchen so q • y, for we had no heart
for play; while Bath Tam in the sieirroo,,
attending to our mothei.
We knew that be ryas li • . for when we be
gan -to,thisk, beg:gums , wept - so wick and
ii +mg,
he did not come, that. be . eat really have died,
Joeephasid to her the finalmorning that we were
admitted 'to our mother's Oak room, "Only tell
us, is fiaher deed!" and she answered, speaking
very rapidly after a long • • , 'ies, to us
he is deed." Afterwards , ben, not satisfied with
this reply, we began to again, " isn't be dead
to every body, then--isn't 4e7" she said : ',Chil
dren be is gone,' and you . not see him agg4n :
If you love me—you are chat I have left--say
s um
no more about it." , I
She did not speak,
spirit thy. t we knew we
if we d had 4Litermined to
she shed were solleient, to
had not become •
tears. It seemed to as •
When we had left her ,
"Elsie, be ante that Son
but I'll find out what it'jo.
Ruth, for. she woold go
what mother went to the
rick--bat don' t ray 'myth
A abort time after mot
her room we made another
left ws
• We went into New Yor
pleasant country into a
Mather took this step b
t•nhe should go to, woi
us i • when we Wima on
I\ l,
reams with what own
She was say to her oak
on her children, 4 igouraga
be fed and clothed!" . I' i
She went dam' to work lindeed: To toil and
meet with failm+-40 hope and be diaappOinted,
to do and die! I know it fill now.' It was to la
bor against fearful odds-rto fall utterly. With:
out friends, without patrons, without a glance of
recognition, or a word of sympathy—to labor
against fear, to labor deapetately and vainlY. To
go forth froth the' emthsoe of lore, and the shel
ter of home, to grapple single-handed with "Aver
shy. It must have been a grievous work, for it
wasted her life away. Anxiety, and care, and
dis a ppointment, and grief, and want—these are
potent agents. They are net long in doing Aga'
work. And still, grappling with all these, she
toilet on, though fainting and afraid, until there
came a climax to it all. -- •
Shall I tell the story of exhausting labors that
invariably meet, with inadequate recionpror, of
the toiling for unjust, dishonest, and unconseiona;
ble employers, of the struggles of the mother's
hands and heart; of thewactifice offered day and
aightecatiaussorr*, tint was ;tot inaird
givemay to tema when *gig* ht have lesiV
Sas 1014 diet karst**,
weer times to vim, ► Olt, to
_spans of if
thd:rarely found an utterance, that was made
dumb for the children's sake? Shall I tell how
one work was resigned for another—the artist's
for the needle•woman's; of the descent we made
from avenue to alley; of vain struggles with the
fate that bore upon us; of wrestlings with all the
coarser and brutalizing influences which are
brought to bear upon the "oondition of the poor?
Shall I touch upon the then+ .of temptations
which beset the beggard, the disheartened, the
forgotten of mercy, love and justice, I had almost
said of God? Why shoUld I speak of these things?
Why will not the dreadful recollection fade away?
It will not fade--it need not! ! I am content to
retain it..
I spoke of the Paradise on the tanks of the
Hudson, from which we were driven amity. Go
you to "Paradise Square," and ask for the histo
ry of some you shall find there. You may chance
to hear ;a story such as my mother might 'have
told, had any come to us with intent of Chirity
or Christian Love, while we dwell there: Per
there at last did we find ourselves. There, in that
centre of pollution, degradation and woe. Beyond
that, unless we plunged into the waters of abom
ination, and suffered the waves of moral death to
roll over us, we could not go. Thank God!
though we stood beside those waters, our feet
were Dever laved by-them. , '
PrOna, the d 4 on which we wont to livein this ,
dre mit
ul quarttr of the city; the day when we for 1
the l
timn ascended those steep and filthy
flights ot sti rs, that led through darkness, en
veloped with 6 atmosphere which . it was pollu
tionli to breal e; from the day of entrince into the
room, of , w ch I cannot aim think without ' a
shudder. of horror and floods of tears, di cheerless,
so vile, ind so abominable was it: from that aw
ful day oar mother was as one dead. he had
worked, and starved herself, and killed herself 1
in vain—we were-here - at last. - - 1
She* died there: In that mineable room, vile
beyond description, comfortlesi beyond the tell
ing our mother died:
J.oeeph, on our removal thither, joined the. ar
my of news-boys, and went about the streets
hawking papers. Our darling little Joe: And
in, here, surrounded by evil in every shape, we
lived. And if nay mother in her trouble did not
forget to pisy,l this I know was the petition to
which her heatt, gave utterance that we might
die together. •
- In - the chamber directly underneath our owp,
iiv T d another widow, and her lion. The boy was
older thawdoseph, and had the same occupation;
he was kind hearted, and Manly beside, and
soon beCame the best friends. Ile was unlike a
other childrni_st aft 114.
tune and not vice had brought them to that plaee,
mid there was no probability that they would re-
Plain there long, for both the mother and son
us to feel their loss as a new misfortune when
they moved away. Joseph and I never. played
in the "beet, or in the square with the other chil
dren in the neighborhood. We had done with
sports and' games, bat manp a pleasant time we
hid in the German woman's room, after mother
was staleep, listening to the legends she would
tell us, and harkening to the songs that she and
Nicholas sang.
• It was on a ,New . Year's day that they went
away. Joseph was in the street, and E was with
the Vauebvalk's assisting them in such ways as
I could. When their few ebattlea were ready for
removal, the good woman went with us into my
mentho's room to chat with her for a moment, and
to take her leave. I stood by the window of their
den,-lUokinginto the street. There was a &De
ng prciCession moving by. It did not make my
spirits lighter, watching that careless train of
wretehed men and women, and - thinking that
perhaps poor Joe and I might soon be following
a body to the grave yard. Nieholat came and
stoodbeiide me, and with me looked from the
tinitUdeiwhere we shall all be nett :New
rear,4 be said. The bare shgrstion made me.
**Six," he went on to say more ebee , :foU, for
wheneiver others were Kul, his-apidttysseem
ed to lighten. He Wax a happy hoy, as-bold and
as dauntless as any hero, and always ready to .
sing and laugh; especially if the day wax gloomy,
and, his mother, who was nearly as cheerful as
himself in disposition, seemed inclined to fret a
. "8oe," he said, "I'm going to uuttle'yon
a preseut, Elsie, that you must always keep.—
Clive ,tne your anger." .
Init with such a
hear no more; and
,It further, the teats
Oenou us. As yet we
to the sight of her
ble when she_wept.
Joseph said - to we,
t say anything more,
II means. Don't ask
lierying too. IL kow
fy for before obi was.
I , I'll Ind it one
: was able to leave
Wkwe, awl then Ruth
I put forth wy hand ine►hanically; ashamed of
mY tears, for whenever he spoke I always began
iminedlitely to think and believe that there was
really nothing in the world to cry about.
the &Oh and'
w, crowed street.
He bad in his fingers a bit of golden cord or
thread, which he had picked up somewhere in
his last journey as a newsboy; and this he began
to wild about my finger, and tie closely and se
tmely in a double knit. 1 watched him, utter
ing not a ward. When it was done, he looked
up into my face, and said, "Now, remember El
sie, as long as you live you're tiko keep that ring,
aid when you look at it y9rmuit think that you
hive nothing to cry- for-=that. it's a very good
world to live in, after You must remember
what I told you about the fairy who leads people
along by a golden thread, and no matter wheth
er they walk in rough roads or smooth, it's all
the tame; they don't know the difference asiong
as she leads 'em. keep fast to the thread.—
Nobody will steal , it, for lob* besides you and
me knows what its worth. Will you keep Lt?"
I promised him fidt ! hfully that I would, and I
felt richer from that, moment. I know the fairy
began that instant s lead me along, and I have
never lest•my trust her to this day.
it wits aermery
in wine* sbn ink'
gay to the they. I
• of Haile she maid it.
while she looknd op _
coinage: they; oust
Before Joseph re t arded home they had gont
I stood upon the doily step when they went away,
Nichobis beading under the load of gouda which
he emieit-on his bola, his cheerful' voice *wind
ing in my ear almoist 14.4 hong as I could see them,
when they went up the street. Almost 11.4 longl'
Did I ever forget its And though 1 knew how
niach we should miss them day and night; and
that we were nowiruly mire alone in that savage
Plies Aim we had been licretoftweoitlll I had no
WY wsep ). er groan, as I climbed the
atiliows7 to *• Noloizoling WNW war
81 50 A YEAR,
the boLhss 'hoise.ol I
It was a st or my New Y day, and early In
the afterneen it became so in our nom this
I was obliged to light the , in order that I
might finish the work whit had swami
in ter
of a down town merchant - she fell ill.
At seven o'clock Joseph ' ions, but• the
dandle had long before that' burned to its
socket. It was too late for to go into the
street in search for another,
.., Mt there in to
tal darkness, and in silence, timing that mo
tier slept. ' ,
I was impatient to finish r4nork and waited
with eager listening until J ob should come.
But when he came, I had the of the Vaunch
valk's sudden move to tell hind he seemed
so wear when he flung apps the 'kr
beside me, aid hinds - l iny lap, Ma I
was 80 interested in my own story, that I entire
ly forgot about my work, and the candy, and
everything but that which I was saying.
While I was thus whispering to him in the
lowest tone of voice, we heard mother also Whis
pering but hoarsely, and urgently, like one in
haste, "Elsie! Elsie! Joseph!"
In an instant we were beside her, answering
her, and waiting to hear what she would say.—
Often had we laid - beside her on that lowly bed,
and her dear arms had enfollled us, but now there
was no emotion, and no* fuikher words. It was
so dark that we could not see her or each other,
but when I crept dose to her lode, and said,—
"Here we are Mother, Joe and I," her silence
stilled the }nigh with which I spoke, and when
Joseph, groping for her hand,. said, "You were
asleep when I came in, mother. I've not been
here long, have I Elsie? But it's the Swfulei;t,
night!" and still she did not answer, 'great fear
Tomeseedl me.
I leaped front the Boor. I tried to re-light the
wick• that was left of the candle. While making
this fain effort, Joseph cried out, "Quick ? quid*:
Elsie! Elsie!" I know well what that shriek
meant. I ran from the ruom, and in an instant
more was back agim. By that fading, flicker
light 'we looked on our dead mother!
In all that house—that enormous bnilding n .
where the wretched of every rude and hue lad
found a shelter, one room alone,. that darkened
chamber which death had entered, was the only
room where quiet reigned that night. Elsewhere,
through its length and briadth, were Ilrunkeness
and riot. Thus surrounded, and with fear and
anguish in our hearts, did we strive until we
had need, to tell each other that the work was
Aredlviroierr- low•Omara. -
our exertion, and convinced, in spite of ourselves,
of the vanity of such Labors, we threw - ourselves
7 — f.--14light when 1. Q r . • •,..„,,_ r isserf„
- -ter ray was streaming through our chaniber
than' ever found its way through the tiny window
panes when -the sun was rising. The gleam was
only momentary, yet an it Seabed over my clos
ed eyelids it thoroughly roused me. Not a sec
ond could have paned before I was groping, for
the door latch is the total darkness that succeed
ed that flash of light. There was a suffocating
smoke in the chamber. I heard the shouts of
men and women—they were laughing, aad cur : .
sing, and shrieking, like se many demons let
loose from hell. Eternity seemed crowded into
that moment when I groped for the , door,lss; as
my band was upon the latch, lifting it—thee oor
dew open before me, and a dense cloud of *eke
rolled in.
Qh Angel of Darkness aad Death! 'But it is
not for me to makes lamentation on this 'day.
For me the,lvaters of the flood have been divid
ed, though I have trodd,s the path prepared
for me, aloof!
I shrieked to Joseph, bat he-did not hear. I
called to our mother—buti the dead hear,not!—
Frantic, I threw my arms about my brother, and
dragged him from the bed. Had I but known
for what I was waking him'. Poor fellow, it was
only to save me, and to die a hero's death.
When he was finally awakened, he litooll for
an instant ;bewildered--then he dashed tOwar , Ls
the doorway, to recoil again, crying, "the mtaini
are on fire.' Oh, Eir'.
And there we Mood, speeehleme, gating on each
Another monutit and he was harrying me to
the window, add together we look"d down mpon
the scene. In the spire a group of idle pcople
was gathered—the, tunes was a gay - sight for
them. The boys were shouting and dancing
about--inen kindling die* pipes by the blitzing
brands, and women langking, cursing and jest
ing with the men. No obe thought of 41—ao
one among them knew that two orphan children
were choosing then between the chances that
wentromented Wore them, standing in the chant
ber.of death, and oontemplating death together
The sight of all thaw wretches— r their
feat indifference, maddened Jcaielibi He cried
aloud to them, beseeching their „aid, brit the
rearing of the &wear and the eitiab of timber,
had a sound, more mighty than the tekrified
shrieks of a child. Pereeivil thia, he turned
towards me. .
"You are notAgoing to roast
We must leap for itr' And'
act or think, he had me in
were dashing earthward from
ed easement. They saw us
With that leap, trouble, wan'
at an end for hina—my little,
cither New Year's gift had bet.
the Golden t Thread--41 We my hiss{ber MC'
rifieed for me. 1 -
I „
hilhe Hospital to which we were i cure° he
died, and me I knew mricss he nail but
To what a loss did I! swam'. INct end
- brother=-gone! 4 •
Mighty sorrows comet )aes prostrate -uft We
yield to them, are overcame of thorn. Hut it is
not always ilk). tlespeneiou MOUNtilUers give us
strength. We rise up, min &binds of the ills
of life, and ildisk and adt an if all that We bad
lost midd be regalusd,4•mewi,iniour . l t ,dad
thus did I, *plea. *a
grave plane 1a 1041iteilininitthathamairtg hobs
itattml,—elmset J4ists4 had IlasioVaLy
MAY 21, 1853.
Wok of aotakig
warthkes life with his own, woo boned, I would
apt tell where.
:w"Whst n3ll you de? 'Where will you go?—
Who are your friends)*" were the questions of the
nurse who attended me in the Hospital; and to
all she asked I could only answer, "I do not
know." And I did not knew, - until thought be
gan to connect with thought, and :recollection
with recollection. And from a contemplation of
the New Year's gift, which still circled a finger
of my left hand, and which she told me- she had
herself prevented the physician from removing
when he dressed the wounds of that hand, be
cause she fancied it might be a keepsake, I was
suddenly hurried, by the recollection of the let
ter that had been secured in my dress by moth
er's hand before we went luto the neighborhood
of Paradise Square. It was that day on which
our last landlord made a seizure of all the fusi
lier' wi had, es epting the bed, and a few other
articles, which, for his pity's sake, he allowed us
to take away to our next abiding place. After
he had left u.i, my mother went from the room,
bidding ua remain there together until she re
turned. It was long' ere she came back again,
and when she tune her face had that death-like
pallor, andler eyes that startling glare that nev
er left them from .that day. 'ln her hand she
brought a letter, and this she gave to me and
said, "I hive been doing a good thing for you,
Elsie. Take thii letter and keep it—♦ day *ay
come when you can use it. $e sure that you
do not lose it." to earnestly did she speak, so
impressed 'was It with the importance of the let
ter, that I secured :it in my drops in such a way
that it world be laic as long as the garment it
self lasted. •
Another week found me no longer, an inmate
of the New York Hospital, but a resident in. a
convent- 7 s pupil at St. Mary's.
My letter was addressed to the Superior. The
nurse at the Hospital was a Sister of Charity
(richly she merited the name!) She had her
self been ethunted by this Superior, or under the
charge of her:those protection I was now seek
ing. It - was this Dim and sister who had
brought me to this plate, and here I had found
a home and a friend. •
We arrived at the convent early in the eve
ning, my guide and myself. My letter was de
livered by my guide. An hour . after I was
shown. into the Siiperior's presence. She wel
comed me is Christ's name; immured .me of her
sympathy; bade me confide in her. Had she not
been beautiful, and noble, and gracious, gentle
of speech, and tender of manner, as she was, my
,heart had not failed to obey her, when she mid
-.-siter_LbsiL. 4
had to tell, "My daughter,- you are welcome.—
Trust in me as I shaltlLoY%lr
SS 2 lotoor-PsTe-yea:
Sh'e kissed me, and she wept, and seemed
deeply moved. I looked_ upon the Golden Thread.
I thought of the fairy of which Nicholas had
told me, and I fancied that the ring looked
brigher and purer thin =nil, and my confidence
in the potency of the. fairy's efforts Was 'never
stronger than at that happy moment.
I bad lived' in this convent four years when
Charlotte first came to St. Mary's, I said.
Early one morning, shortly after her arrival,
I was on my knees before one of the windiows of
the chamber where we• slept. Not absorbed in
my devotions, but watching the approach of a
great cloud of snow, that advanced .through the
valley from the south, leaving 9u the earth, for
eat and river, tokens of its progress - as it moved
along. - •
The river was frozen; thP ground hard as rock.
The sky, excepting toward the west and south,
clear, and bright as steel. It was late in De
cember, yet this was the first snow that had fal
len, and it was a sight welcome to our eyes as
we looked from the. convent windows.
Charlotte Winslow was beside we, scratching
her name with a pin on the frost-covered glass,
and writing another underneath het' own, w ich
she breathed upon ere it was finished, assuring
we thai if she only dared to du it she could
grave her name indellibly upon the pane with
the diamond which she wore when she loune to
the convent,. but which since that day had been
laid out of sight, for no-baubles were worn at St.
While I dreamily watched the rapid spread of
the clouds, and the advance of the storm, Char
lotte multihued working busily with the pin.—
Finally she said: s
"What's this like, darling:"
- I looked, but lowing only divers and sundry
marks, which bore about islnUch reeembhuiee to
the signs of the dead language as they did to any
other thing, askefl in turn:
"fs it short . hand:"
"Very likely,? I replied. "Eepeciallyif what
you have done wean anything. I see nothing
but scratches."
"Nothing but scratches! Just observe. rus
is the surface of the ground—a broad field in the
midst of hills ; Hire is an immense hole. Down
below is a great Of of darkness. c '
T hese are lamps,
you stupid! The si a of the cave you perceive
areliard as rock -see" how they glisten! Those
are men—they work here—mid as -good as live
here . Under 'gr . anud. Just think of it! Now! do
you understandr
:44 see no More than I did at first. Perhaps
You are telling about a mine, or a well. But
for all that I see nothing." -
~It is a nine. if 1- had you here--this is the
unlit* of the rock yon see—l would place you
in that great tub, and theinsta standing here by
the windlass should let you down in the twink
ling of an -eye."
"In the name of wooder,., what put such an
ides into you ileadr e il eselaimad.'
"Oh," answered Charlotte with not the slight
est hesitation, "j am imaginative, you knew., I
shall make a better artist then you.. Ask M.
Ng lists! 0,40
I had it in my milk* as
taking this wad - 44 Artine'sy topkiioo„
pool could bsiin It ske K ea 11111 a.
"lou want imagination sadly, don't you El
, i ,
. i r c .
aboviihea Aug of gaits tkivad Tan warab.;4a it
a charm of as amulet? 'Thereby hangs AAA,'
I know, sod I am curious to hoar ii."
"I have, s thousand times si least. Have you
a lover outside the convent walls? I wonder the
Superior lets you wear it, though to be ear s it's
not mach of m ornament. Not much of 'a
pomp and vanity."'
I had no opportunity to answer again, for just
then the chapel bell interrupted our lalk, and,
drove away all thoughts save those associated
with the duties awaiting us.
A few days later Charlotte and I were walk
tig with certain of the teachers and pupils of St.
Mary's, in an avenue recently opened through
the convent lands. As we cane in sight of a
great excavation m*le for the new railway, I
thought of Charlotte's etching and-said:
"Hate drat =mimed that wonderftd imagine
don oeiours any ftirfher ori the subject of mines
since your sketch saw the lieu? Tell me a sto
ry about it, do."
ai I do."
'Why ehould'nt I?k ir sikall freese, I believe,
we . poke along at such a ;mire psee. I'd give
anything for a- race this morning. Do tell me
some homlle story about those mines."
"What mines? There's no getting clear of
you. There isn't another such a tease in the
school as. pm—poor little daub of an artist, El-
ode Culverton! fdo wonder that I came to take
each a fancy to you. The girls who are kept at
a diitsnoe by your haughty temper, are well off
they did but know it. They should bless
their side for that same."
"I am not haughty," I' said in quick resent
met, "but I will always keep at is distance, from
,girlS who know how to do just one thing, and
only one---to ask impertinent qne e tions. Yen
may depend on that."
"Tut—tut! why Elsie, for shame! ru tell
you a story, though you are in a comfortable
heat just now, that makes one guess you wont
freeze immediately. Come nearer take my
arm—there I Now do your beat to keep alive.
You shall hear a story, never fear. And so the
girls ask impertinent questions do they? Tell
me what about, seam time, and PA silence them.
" Away down in the depths of a great mine
worked an old man, who bad labored there for
twenty years. lie had a son, and a son's son, and
daughter. And the children were twins. These
were all his family : the.wives of the two men, the
old and the young, were dead. The .old man's
hair was white as snow; the young man's black as
night ; the children had golden locks that gleam
-ea-ES-eanshiee in the gloomy place. It may
not have seemed like sunshine to others; but you
;4, is the fact. To the o man son
the 'children' scurling leeks, their very selves, were
like sungleams. They were merry children; they
grew like weeds ,in the mine. They worked a
little, but they played. a great deal, and they
ed each other, and life, and every one loved them.
One morning"—here Charlotte paused, and look
ed long and earnestly upon the excavation the
laborers Were , making for the railway, though the
work had not advanced perceptibly since we last
walked that way. Twice I said " Well ?" befute
it pleased her to resume the story.
" One morning the little girl had gone of mith
one of the miners whom thichildren always!
uncle; although there wait AWally no o:mo
tion between them. For tvrong time she played
about the chamber in which he was at work, but
at hen she beetumeernary, and began to taw Ole
'obi fellow to lead- er back to the place where her
father and brother were. This he could not do
at once, so he gave her some of the smaller and
duller tools employed in his work, that she might
amuse herself until he could attend her. At last
he was ready to go; he stooped to lift her in his
arms, but just then' there was a loud crash, and a
report, that echoed, and
. re.echoed with mighty
sound through all those vaulted chambere, The
child and the man when they heard itrstoottsiock
still, as if turned into pillars of salt, and the man's
face was pale ftoii fright. Then he grasped the
little one's hand, and with not a word, they ran
off together towards her krl94lfather's field.'
"'There had been it:dreadful catastrophe- an
explosion--sad who were killed or wounded it
was at first impossible to ear But the men look
ed with terror on each other, so many of - their
comrades were Missing. They left the little girl
standing by herself alone, lions after hour, the
men working witlmut pause, now and then bring
ing out from the ruin the body ¢ f some comrade,
dead, or dying, or horribly crhecl. Can you
fancy her feeling ? You awn t. You have no
imagination, I; remember, poor child 114, if
yen only could geese it her feeling as she saw the
old Man whoed hair was as - white as snow, and
the younger man with the black locks, and her
little goldenAminxi brother. It's a great pity,
Elsie, that you have no imagination, for really if
you could bring the scene before you as it actual
ly was, you would not sleep again for a week to
come. What sort of creature though, do you
suppose that child might prove to be in the course
of time, after MIA an early experience"'
gi 3 y
' I looked at Charlotte. She was not smili as
though her speech waa made in jest. Her es
Were fixed upon the path before her with a 7e,
liculiar look, and her motion as she went forward
was strictly mechanical. Evidently her every
thought was Tway in the dark cave of which'she
hid spoken. She was commiserating the fate of
the bereaved child. I could not resist asking—
" Where did you read it f- And as Laiked it
I thought that there was no great neoeasity'of my
drawing on imagination for' scenes both horrible
and strange—had not my memory an abundance
of such recolleetione 1 Alas my little, darling
I drew closer to' Charlotte as I asked the ques
tion. She seemed nearer to me, and dearer, sine
I knew that she had dreamed of sorrows the like
!twine' h I had *Ned Omagh.
Skw answered me, " I read it in a trno book,
_ -
N What beams of• the e • i
- 4 '0114" Maid, .. 11 *1 2 _, Pe ti l io ;=" l
'0,1! pielaii,o4llol
into Mile!, tbst
"Drew on you imagination," allowed I
"Ah, then you'll know 'tut much about mines
ulster Aids
to make you
me a proper
" When the chili mew the &run - 17'6i beketi
her dead, she fell down at their low width** ,
word or cry, sad homedistsly gave up tai gineo s . ;
Charlotte laughed at the abrupt tenahinthin I " 1
had given the tale. ~
"This is the way you ,waste such materiekl—. ;;
No, the child ought to live, sad mat up out it.
the mines like a wonderful elf, and ski Mufti& rat ~.
a remarkable career among people who are ii the ' '
habit of living by daylight. She 'should hare
a lover, and all sorts of trouble Olt hisemsonstr- 1 .-
You would pot an end totter* esec - Whets, ...:-.;.-,
idea; but,the be thing *I herself perhecollist ,
could be done."
"Do you ever *bout mines, Clusriethe .
4 ; 0,
- •roestatutr-i. ithout *mi. - I ham jes4
been doing that same ' - ye* sumesonsmdc.:, : l r ,
dream of them otnights to t ife s. ,..,,,
looked at me with piercing curiosity, me dm mid
this. " I had last night * vision almost as Mr. •
Bible as this of which I've been smiting. I wee
drying when I awakened."
" Yes," I said, "I know you were. I thought _
Mhad some fright. You were talking about
ines too."
" Psis, I want to ask yon some , hapirtirmit
iinestione—you say the rest of the gide as."
-1 " Say on Ciariette.r_ , •
, " Row long here you been at & illitufe 7 - 121
ion tell ate?" 1 .
1 " Four years." -
a Where did you live biding) e
- ,
"In New York." ~' •i ' -
" rve had the, prom*, and- ajtall Sr:hem ,
sometime. It's a coat, plate to lietriwieirt Mt
I've a presentment something - old will boo
there to me, soak day."
"(Treat? Yee—'very. Aleeirosetptladhp
. ,
" Are you gong to remain lee P" . .
" What—alweys do 'Yee mean' t.
~ y e ku ! • 2 1 •
." . •
" Yon have friends Resides-them in tliss• set
tent, of ccrurse." -. L *-: - - - ' , .t.,
" Why of amine e, - - ,... ,... - -
" Everybody has. /hem" l ,-. ~ _
" Then if eirmyhody hes, I lift NC vas
Will please to ask me im Mors* base -
- " And you mint tell me how dist, sintaint
on your finger." - -
" It belongs M the Eskimo—Wines' d mags."
" Yon have came intsenet kin after aIIT 1114/1
Elsie, let me . lust tell you one thing, I MI in
love at Silt sight, whin I came to the cam*"
" With whom Charlotte!"
" Yourself tsie. lam glad we set bails
• • • e school room, and ra stood up
you. 8. aso of girls was Uevervi.
before Pll be sworn. Above all I'm so glad that
we have both - a taste for the he arts. We will
be rivals, and between us both Sister Anna
be put into the shade before we leave, Pm think
ing. Now, Pie Pre made my declaration,
what do You Ws; of liter-
", I bleu th 6 day you cum! I thouight I should
die after Lydia Warner went Isome;nad I believe
I should have done so if you hadn't ems. Eni
you did come, and ad• I'm aline."
" Don't you long for her sister's smarter
"I did till this monnin& but I don't ors a ilg
about it now."
"Consider yourself hugged in the wariest
possible embrace for that oonfaision. I blurs
with my spirit, Elsie, it would - be a hulou af.
/ince if I ga l sre the outward and Tisitda sip him
in the open thoroughfare."
That was' a atemorible walk. •
mums tir. •
It may have bees)* fortidgbt altar this walk
and conversation,-that a package mats hoar Nevi
York, a gift to the 4:lnvent from Lydia Waraer'i
mother, which consisted of two Faistipth Pm"
chased by her at a scent Baia. •
I wits studying in the school room =al s late
hour; for when I heard that the present had ar•
rived, I Localize ski Much excited about tie Pic
tures distil forgot, ray books;, eoossquemtly wham
called *upon to reoitea lam not a word Ce ea]
lesson----therefore lair* no aMationabis ease%
I was obliged to commit it to my !may ease
school was dimnies4 and this recite it *
' •
By the, time this *malty was paid, it was user
ly dark, and, as I Went front the school few t
perceived that the girl* had alt returned nwea tin
afternoon exercise. Charlotte Winslow net ins
in the corAder; she hod cone in sear* of on.
‘‘ Come, I have lniftMW'yetir
want to shoir you the striae* *tare piss
ever laid eyes on, hefbre it gets darker."
She tOok my hand, and we harried tun ihe re
fectory; nit this ipsinting was plead se Os
wall °m i ni the three windows widish opined Mt- .
the garden. Late au it was,. the Vit. ilia A& 7, -
upon the picture was quite lamed 10. 10 ,4 the
shadows gathering in the great roost civil: bet
to heighten the effect.
The instant I otmiprehended
faintness and 'dirtiness came over roe; ohilik
had experienced once in toy Ydr• Ast
awful night when joseph iielik his
arms from the buining hommi r mad Mai ter Iss.
But I did not faint. Cluokotto
satioo ; she had gone book to slut illst *me itz:
the passage-way, that we Miettoiti,a,/aisi: 411144.
was I that she did not obsess it. - Whoa eLs
returned, she passed me ripidgy, stebir
" Come nearer I Here is limot this 4111111 Si . -
please you. It pleases measitsistfially.
mast like it. But did yos iw we lark**
queer? the namelof it it'll.", leuxinalle INL •
They have such *apt = Alfas* slicitql.
nor says; she wws It taws jailimit..
Look at those wpcua, toil!** 4164111*.e. 11 0"