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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
THE CRICKET
At Midnight, in the Chamber of Death.
BY WM. GILMORE SIMMS.
That chirping cricket watches like myself:
lie hath his song, and, were its burden known,
It were, perchance, a song of thanksgiving
To the Great Father ! His untiring hymn
Narrates the gilts, inordinate or mean,
He wins in his short life. A week of stir,
A rest in the old crevice while the day
Hums fiercely, and a progress safe by night,
Near the old mantel, in the hollow wall—
And for these boons he blesses. Should he prate,
If such were not the burden of his chaunt,
Thus idly, with his click-clack, thro’ the night,
In sounds that strike at vacancy, and pierce
The drowsy ear of silence, mocking mine !
Oh, God! be merciful! From him 1 learn
All things that live have cause of thanksgiving ;
For life itself is privilegeits pains,
When felt the most, are proofs of its dear worth,
And holy treasure,—since, to feel its pains—
Privation, for the moment, of its peace,
And the complete sensation of its gifts—
Extorts our groans, and lifts us in complaint,
Even when we seek thee, Father. We reproach,
Even when we most implore. We ask of Thee,
Why hast thou ta’en our treasure—the dear child,
That was so beautiful—that seem’d so sure
Os health and life, and sparkled with such eyes
Os intellectual promise—was so dear,
That, at its taking, though we knew the bird—
That bird of soul that cannot but go up—
Already in Thy presence sat and sang.—
Our straining heart-strings yielded, and wc lay,
Crush’d, wither’d, hopeless, groaning, on the
ground,
And asking wildly of Thee, “ Wherefore this V*
We thought not of our treasure made secure
With Thee, —we free to seek it! Like the beast
Itobb’d of its young, wo thought but of the day,
And the day’s business, and the day’s delight;
Nor, in the bosom of consoling thought,
Buried our faces, until re-assured
Os our dear treasure, in its angel state
Preserved, an angel;—certainly secure
From mortal blight—from all of evil change,
Such as attends the living steps of man
O’er the sad wastes of earth.
And yet to think
Os its unriponed beauties—oh, how ripe
In sweetness—of its mild and innocent voico,
And dearest prattle ;—of its cunning looks,
Sly sports, gay, heart-free laughter-room to room
Resounding, till a bird-life reign’d in all,
And our heart's happiness was all complete:—
Her self-submitting gentleness —her tears,
How prompt to flow, if on her little ears
Our tones grow harsh, or, in our older eyes,
The glance grew stern and angry—oh, to think
Os these, and other signs and sounds of joy
That life no more may yield us—how her cry
Saluted us at coming—how her charge
Implored our soon return ; and how she clung
About our necks, and fastened on our hearts,
Fill she and they grew one!
Oh ! that wo weep,
Forgive us, Father. Thou wilt not deny
Tears to such loss. We had not so much wept,
Nor so much felt, nor so much spoke reproach,
1 lad she boon less an angel.
If, in Heaven,
White spirits of joy to meet her, with a song,
Resounding through the myriad thronging choir,
At coming of a sister—meetly wo
Groan in our ashes. What is gained to Heaven,
Is surely lost to us. Such loss may be,
As thou hast said, our gain. Our selfish count
Computes the several treasures of our heart,
fn Heaven and Earth, and finds the greater there.
How many, oh ! how many, blessed übove,
And dear beyond all estimate on Earth,
Implore us not to forfeit the dear hope,
That all may be restored. Father, Thy help
In this fond struggle! erring still, we sink,
Unless Thou help us. Help us in the strife, —
() ur weakness with Thy strength. Take from
our hearts
1 heir wilful yearnings. Scourge us to the task,
If need be, that we may not loso the boon:
Let us not loiter ! Bend our knees in prayer;
1 ask us with proper work ; direct our tin lights
1 o holiest purpose ; from our passions take
The low desire, and ever to our eyes
Ho the dear image of our wealth in Heaven, —
An image, like the angel we have lost, —
White-handed, beckoning ever, and at night
Whispering her mission to our slumbering hearts!
We gronn, wo groan,dear Father! but we pray—
Sore stricken, we can but groan; oh! be our
prayer
Acceptable. We know that we aro wrong,
Hut we are wretched ; —sinful in our deeds,
Hut suffering much from Thine. Oh! be our sins
Subdued in suffering, that it may not need
I'ho farther chastening of Thy awful hand !
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
THEY MADE HIM A BED THAT
WAS NARROW AND COLD.
BY J. A. TURNER.
They made him a bed that was narrow and cold,
In a land far away from his own.
And they left him unooffin’d to slumber and mould,
in a spot that was silent and lone.
And light was the heart of the stranger that toss’d
The clod o'er his bosom unwept—
Nor a sigh, nor a tear, did the funeral cost,
Nor a vigil of sorrow was kept.
Hut hearts there arc, breaking in sadness, away,
As they wait for and watch his return ;
And they wonder that he from their bosoms should
stay,
Where the sparks of such tenderness burn
Ah! little they know that the clod on his tomb
Long since has grown crumbled and cold—
Know not of the heath, or the wild flower’s bloom,
How they nod o’er the mariner’s mould.
Eatonton , Geo.
n as a ©a a. a ©sis.
For Richards’ Weekly Gazette.
NELLIE BUFORD’S
QUILTING PARTY.
BY JENNIE ELDER.
Hor cheek was rosy, and soft, and pretty—
Her eyes were languishing, large and jetty,
And a glance from their depths the story would
tell,
That she knew the power of hor beauty’s spell.
Shall I, contrary to all prescribed rules
of etiquette, introduce my readers to the
interior of a kitchen ? lam sadly afraid
that my civility in so doing may be under
valued, and so, by way of conciliation,
state, that there you will find my heroine.
And such a heroine! a perfect little mu
seum of peach-blooms, snow-flakes, jet
stars, and silky, raven accompaniments,
was concentrated on and around her bright
face, while the perfections of her form may
be summed up in two words—symmetry
and grace. Ah! a bright little witch is
Nellie Buford ! There she stands —her
plump little hands deep in the mysteries of
pudding and pie—the up-turned sleeve re
vealing a succession of symmetry and dim
ples worthy an empress. The closely-fit
ting striped homespun dress, while it con
fers an air of neatness, adds but little to
the general appearance, that, however,
would be “ painting the lily and Nellie,
with her bright face still brighter from such
warm exercise, bustles and glides about
from one delicious compound to another,
in a manner peculiar to a paragon of coun
try maidens. Very little, if any, cares she
for the present fate of her little hands —
like the ermine, they seem incapable of
soil or stain; and, as to one bright gold
ring, she had slyly slipped it off, and stow
ed it away in one of those hiding-places,
yclepd boxes or trunks, so necessary to the
existence and happiness of woman. To
that little ring there hangs a story, dear
reader. Nellie—you know it already—is
engaged. Just three weeks ago, to-day,
did the little maiden take it into her head
to seclude herself for an hour’s serious
meditation; and, just three weeks ago, lack
ing fifteen minutes, did William Barton—
rude youth—intrude himself into her gar
den-bower, and there, incontinently fling
ing himself on the velvet grass at her feet,
horrify her by “popping the ques
tion !”
Nellie’s little heart well nigh exhausted
its vitality in a succession of fierce llutter
ings, and then, when it lay quite still in
her bosom, like a frightened dove, she, in
gentle accents, bade the youth be seated.
William obeyed, and, to add to the enor
mity of his presumption, seated himself
close by her on the rustic bench.
“ Nellie, dear Nellie,” said he, as he
plucked a budding multiflora and held it
towards her, “ can you forgive me ?”
“ Forgive you for what, William V’ and
her little hand closed almost unconsciously
on the rose.
“ For loving you.”
“ That was no crime.”
“For seeking a return of love.”
“ You are forgiven.”
And Nellie’s head drooped till the dark
curls floated over the supporting arm in
contrast most magnificent.
After the first gust of sweet perturba
tion, wonder was the most predominant
feeling in the breast of each—in William’s,
that Nellie could and would love him —in
Nellie’s, that William ever did verbally
enlighten her on a subject which, in every
other respect, was as evident to her as
day.
It would fill a very respectable novel,
were I to delineate minutely the little inci
dents and accidents that had germinated
and fostered and ripened a passion, whose
first fruits, like well matured apples, had
been offered on the salver of genuine can
dor, to the blushing little goddess who had
acted the part of the sun thereto. Suffice
it to say, that William Barton was an or
phan—an orphan, in the most destitute
sense of the term, for, ere yet he could lisp
the name of mother, she and her emigrant
husband had passed to “ the land of shad
ows,” leaving the one pledge of love to
the mercy of strangers, and the care of
Heaven. Their last prayer wasanswered.
A benevolent neighbor, Mr. Maxwell, and
his wife, took the little stranger to their
home, and reared it as tenderly and kindly
as they did their own offspring.
Had William been a careless or joyous
child, he might have been happy; but
thought brooded in his heart and in his
large eyes, and, while yet a very child, he
discovered the sad truth that parental love
must be as a sealed book to him forever.
Thus he grew up, retiring and shy, shun
ning and being shunned by the lively and
gay-—all but his little neighbor, Nellie
Buford. She had talked with him, read
with him, offering flowers of the field and
of fancy, on the altar of childish pity and
friendship, until, one bright summer’s eve,
emboldened by her sweet manner, he had
told her she was, and must ever be, his
dear sister. Nellie consented willingly,
and, from that evening, to the evening
marked by the event in the garden, his fra
ternal feelings had been in the state “ac
tive-transitive.”
Superior keenness of perception in these
matters, has, from time immemorial, been
conceded to woman; and, while William
moped and wandered like a lost spirit,
brooding over what had befallen him, and
lamenting his inability to return injury for
injury, or seek redress, Nellie, the little
sprite, was coquettishly laughing in her
sleeve at his stupidity, and wondering if
she must change the order of things and
turn wooer.
Things had remained in this state for a
year or more, when Nellie, being in her
eighteenth summer, and somewhat of a
belle withal, received an invitation to a
ball at the county court-house. A perfect
tremor of delight pervaded her bosom, as,
having arrayed herself in a pretty dress of
white muslin, with a wreath of fresh, white
rose-buds encircling the heavy braid on the
back of the head, she, for the first time in
her life, entered a ball-room on the arm of
a very handsome partner. There was a
perfect jam of beauty and fashion there as
sembled, and Nellie’s little hand was ner
vous, and her cheek wore its richest hue,
as she took her place in the dance. But
her confusion was soon lost amid the gay
ety, the brilliant lights, the inspiring music
and harmony of motion, and ere the night
had half waned, her reputation as a Hebe
and a Grace was fairly established. She
was escorted home by quite a little retinue
of gallants, who, on the pretence of enjoy
ing the sports of the field with her brother,
tecklessly set their hearts up as targets for
the exercise of the skill of the boy-god Cu
pid, as he lay in lustrous ambush beneath
the silken fringes of her dark eyes. It
was anew warfare to Nellie, and, on the
evening of the departure of her visiters, she
had sought her bower to collect her vague
thoughts, when she was interrupted in the
manner aforementioned, so that she left
the bower more perturbedly than she en
tered it.
It all seemed so like a dream, that, in a
few days, she almost fancied it as such;
but just then she became the recipient of
the ring, and thenceforth all was plain and
intelligible. Their engagement was for a
year. Nellie wished to see more of the
world that had opened so pleasantly, and
to “fix,” and as both purposes might be
answered thereby, she was now to have a
quilting party. William demurred a little
to this arrangement at first. He had been
frightened at former events, and—as the
truth must be told—Nellie had learned to
practice the mood coquettish, in a manner
that made him tremble for the effect of time
and gratified vanity ; but he could not—
indeed, she had hinted he need not —object
to her desires: and so we return to the
starting point, the kitchen.
The sponge-cake, queen-cake, transpa
rent pudding, etc., all lie done, tempting
and rich, on the table, ready for transporta
tion to the neat little dairy. Nellie has
entrusted this task to her younger sister,
Mary, and she has flown off to give the
finishing touch to the “ big room.” Her
first act was to draw forth a capacious
basket, in which were carefully deposited
long, delicate vines of running cedar, tro
phies which the youngsters, at Nellie’s
suggestion, had borne off from the woods.
Nellie, with a unique as well as romantic
taste, tacked these in fanciful festoons over
the snowy window-curtains, and wherever
they could be placed with effect. There is
such a thing as carrying these little rustic
adornments to excess, liut, where there is
just so much poetry in a woman’s soul as
to enable her to admire and appreciate Na
ture’s beautiful gifts, it will also act as a
guide infallible to the eye and hand, in the
disposal of a simple flower or vine. Nel
lie, therefore, who had a sweet little well
of uncultured poetry gushing in her heart,
knew exactly the appropriate location for
her pet vines, and a feeling of intense sat
isfaction was her’s, as, standing by the
door, she surveyed her handiwork, and
thought of how it all would look on the
eventful morrew, and how, especially, it
would appear to the eyes of William Bar
ton.
The sisters were up by the earliest dawn
of morning, and Nellie, answering admira
bly an old-fashioned description of a per
fect woman, with “ her garments brushing
the dew,” surprised the roses and their sis
ter flowers, while yet they slumbered like
Innocence, with pearls of purity folded in
their heart of hearts. These were arranged
effectively in two quaint glass pitchers,
while a coarser one stood on the hearth,
filled with feathery sprigs of asparagus dot
ted fancifully with dwarf roses. The quilt
was to be quilted “ by the piece,” so the
girls soon had it in the frame, and then
flew off to perform a more elaborate toilet.
Nellie seemed to be in a wilful mood that
morning, for her rebellious hair was car
ried nolens volens over her temples, and
then, like a loosened stream, floated in
lustrous confusion over her neck : she
would wear a pink, though her sister re
commended a blue, lawn dress; and, after
all, it was a happy choice—the loose, half
long sleeves showing her round white arm
to sweet advantage, and the short curls
foiling strikingly the faultless neck.
At a pretty early hour, the girls had all
assembled, and, after a few preliminaries,
went to work “ right off.” There were the
usual remarks on the pattern, the thread,
&c., interspersed with little tit-bits of maid
enly gossip, and sly quizzing of the fair
owner of the quilt. Julia Riggins had
heard she was “ engaged” to Mr. Purdy,
and Sally Higgins, that the day was set for
her marriage with William Barton, and as
Nellie blushed equally deep to all their
accusations, and as anew ring glittered on
her finger, they all unanimously rendered
their verdict that “something was to pay.”
The gentlemen all arrived before dinner,
and, as if to con over their most fitting
phrases of gallantry in their occiputs, and
also to give the last external application of
brushing thereto, they dispersed themselves
in the porch and under the shady old oaks
in the yard. Abner Purdy was the first to
make his bow to the ladies. He was one
of Nellie’s conquests at the ball, and her
most devoted admirer. He managed to se
cure a seat conveniently near to Miss Bu
ford, rendering himself of essential service
by handing thread, and even quilting a few
straight lines, and, whenever an opportu
nity offered, telling her how well she look
ed —looking,-himself, as if he thought she
really ought to return the compliment. A
perlect specimen of a rural fop was Mr.
Abner Purdy; tall and straight, with a
height of complexion that made it difficult
to determine whether Old Sol or John Bar
leycorn were the donor of it; his hands, of
the same bright hue, he carefully ensconc
ed in kid gloves on “company” occasions;
while his feet, like great pedestals, were,
on this particular occasion, encased in pa
tent-tipped gaiters. His simplest word was
pompously delivered, and the vowel ‘a’ in
variably received its highest intonation—
-1 aw.’ Joined to all these outer accom
plishments, he was fully blessed with a
sense of his own importance and irresisti
bility. and felt that there was more conde
scension than love in his attentions to Miss
Buford. We will conclade this digression
by saying, that there was neither conge
niality nor liking between him and William
Barton.
In the evening, the quilt was forcibly
taken from the weak hands of the girls,
and hoisted to the ceiling. Then arose an
animated debate as to what would come
next; some were for dancing, others for
playing, and at length it was referred to the
ladies. They were equally divided in opin
ion, but, at length, a small majority gave
their vote for play.
“Do you intend playng'?” said Nellie,
addressing William Barton for almost the
first time that day.
“Do you wish it, Nellie 1” William
was slightly rabid.
“ No, certainly not, if you don't.”
“ Mr. Purdy will, perhaps, take my
place.”
“ He may, if you yield it to him.”
And Nellie, piqued more than she was
willing to own, hastily took her place in
the gay circle. She was unusually un-
lucky, her handkerchief being a perfect
string of knots. At length came the set
tlement. The gents paid first, and Nellie
blushingly and very reluctantly afforded
Mr. Purdy material assistance in the re
demption of a very flashy silk handker
chief. Her time soon came, and judgment
passed on “ the owner of this fine thing.”
She cast a look at William, but he would
wait for a word. The word came not, and
unwittingly her eye rested on Mr. Purdy.
He had no scruples of conscience, but
“jumped right up like a rocket,” and “in
less than no time,” there was a knot less
on the kerchief.
William Barton remained a restless spec
tator for an hour or two, and then, on pre
tence of urgent business, took his leave.—
Nellie was more hurt than she was even
willing to confess to herself, and though
she made an effort to be as gay as ever, a
most incorrigible quivering of the lip beset
her sadly. She thought, however, that
William would come over in the morning,
when all could be easily explained; but
she was mistaken. Persons of quiet, un
obtrusive manners, often possess a fixed
ness of purpose—l had almost said mulish
ness—which their more impulsive fellow
mortals little dream of. This was William’s
failing. In general, gentle and amiable in
the extreme, he felt now as if he was look
ed on as one whose easiness and pliancy
of disposition would enable him tamely to
endure a slight bruise in his affections.—
This was the very repelling point, and so
for three whole ages of days he absented
himself from the dwelling of Mr. Buford.
It was late on the evening of the fourth
day, that, somewhat ashamed of his sulki
ness, he walked over for the purpose of
reconciliation. Nellie was seated in the
porch, seemingly in a very serious mood,
and as he seated himself beside her and
took her hand, drew back with her most
stately expression, and responded to his
greeting in most cold and measured ac
cents.
“ Nellie, do you receive me thus I” said
William reproachfully.
“ I hardly know how to receive you,
Mr. Barton, unless you first warn me
which mood would be most acceptable—
grave or gay.”
“ You are inclined to be sarcastic, Nel
lie. I little expected so formal a recep
tion.”
Each waited for the other to yield.
“I am sorry my manners are so dis
pleasing to you. Must I smile and weep,
and ask your pardon for my offences 1 —
You are quite exacting.”
“ Is it possible that the feelings which I
had fancied went forth to me alone, have
ceased, or passed to another I I knew
you liked that fop, Purdy.”
“ Indeed! Then, perhaps, since you
have lost confidence in me, it were better
we should part.”
“ Do you really wish it V ’
“Just as you please.”
“So soon !” ejaculated poor William.—
“ But I will not hesitate an instant, when
it is so plainly your wish. Farewell, Nel
lie, perhaps for a long time.”
Nellie reached forth her hand in silence.
She would fain have spoken words of
kindness, but, as she looked on William
as the aggressor, a feeling of pride deterred
her. And so they parted, Nellie still hope
ful, and William hopeless, of reconcilia
tion. Their feelings were little to be en
vied, but por William’s were by far the
most acute. It was the first outpouring of
affection from his lonely heart, and now,
when it had gone tremblingly, confidingly
forth, to find it chilled, wasted, was agony
to his sensitive spirit. In a week, Mr.
Maxwell was highly surprised on receiv
ing from William’s lips an avowal of his
intention of going West or South, but as
he was ignorant of what had passed, and
very willing to assist him in any project
for bettering his fortunes, he freely gave
his consent to the proposal. In a few
days, William was ready to depart. He
could not trust himself to bid farewell to
Mr. Buford’s family, and so they knew no
thing of his intentions till it was too late
to prevent them. It was a sad blow to
Nellie when she received this news. She
had loved deeply and truly as she was be
loved ; but William, fancying that all
hearts, like his own, expressed their feel
ings plainly and openly, mistook the little
mark of female vanity and wounded pride
for the true features, and turned in pain
and bitterness of soul from the pictute. It
was as well for Nellie, after what had
passed, that pride came to her aid ; regret
and sorrow she would and did feel, but
pride enabled her to hide it from the eyes
of the world. Few knew of their inter
course, or of the cause of William’s emi
gration, and so, in a few weeks, the event
was forgotten in the new topic of Mr. Pur-
dy’s attentions—ooecplnt>ln aUcnlioii#, tl
was deemed—to the fair Nellie. Asa
matter of course, Mr. Buford had various
jocular intimations of what was passing
beneath his roof, the result of which was,
that Nellie was summoned to take a seat
in the porch with her father.
“Nellie,” said he, when they had re
mained tete a tete for a moment in silence,
“ Nellie, they tell me you are going to mar
ry this fine Abner Purdy.”
Nellie answered in but few words. Thay
were satisfactory, however, for, as he a
rose, he patted her head, and told her she
“ was a wise as well as good child.”
He was scarce out of sight, when the
identical Mr. Purdy arrived, and sealed
himself with an air of even greater impor
tance than usual. His stay was little
longer than Mr, Buford’s, and his counte
nance was fairly purple, as he strode off
muttering through his clenched teeth :
“ Lord! Lord! what a fool I was, to
give that madam a chance to kick me !
But I’ll be even w'ith her; I’ll hint to eve
rybody that l backed out.”
Two years passed swittly away, and no
news of William Barton, except that he
was living with a wealthy gentleman in
the West. In this time, there had been a
change, a sad change, in Mr. Buford’s cir
cumstances. Two-thirds of his moderate
fortune had been swept away by the law,
as payment of security for the debt of a
spendthrift brother, and the remaining pit
tance had dwindled away by that fate
which ever attends falling fortunes, until
mere subsistence could scarce be gained by
the utmost exertion. Mr. Buford had
friends, some of whom really deserved
the name, but others who, partaking of the
nature of summer birds, chirping and flut
tering under the wide-spread branches of
prosperity and hospitality, now, like swal
lows taking fright at the slightest indica
tion of chilly want, flew off suddenly, and
without warning. Mr. Buford, with true
American independence of character, ap
preciate! highly the first, yet refused all
offers of assistance, and the last he dismis
sed from his mind without a sigh.
“ There’s nothing like reverses for shar
pening the wits and strengthening the arm,”
said he, “ and, with the blessing of Heav
en, and the aid of my able sons and willing
daughters, I will soon regain my footing.”
The West and South offered strong in
ducements to the industrious and enter
prizing, and the worthy family unanimous
ly concurred in the father’s determination
to emigrate thereto. There was no weak
shrinking from the fatigue of a long over
land journey and the hardships of new set
tlers ; and though there was pain in their
hearts at leaving the home and friends of
childhood, they saw the old homestead
pass into the hands of strangers, with feel
ings more of hope than despair.
After four or five weeks’ weary travel,
they arrived, and settled in a flourishing
portion of Tennessee. The hospitable in
habitants afforded them every facility to
wards establishing themselves comfortably.
One gentleman supplied them with corn for
a year; another, with meat; another, with
land—all of which Mr. Buford insisted on
repaying—and so on, until it seemed as if,
after all their vicissitudes, “the lines had
fallen in pleasant places.”
And now the benefits of a domestic edu
cation were made manifest. The sturdy
sons made “ the wilderness to blossom as
the rose,” while the pliant fingers of the
daughters wrought substantial, even beau
tiful, fabrics, in the loom, for which they
found ready sale among their neighbors.—
With woman's taste, too, they laid off walks
and threw up borders in the rude garden,
where they sowed the seeds of sweet flow
ers, brought all the way from their old
home. A rude frame at the door of the
rough log house, supported a perfect wil
derness of convolvulus and wild honey
suckle. In short, every thing betokened
industry and perseverance.
No doubt it will seem strange to some of
my readers, that a love-lorn heroine, instead
of listlessly folding her hands, and trying
her best to look wan and faded, should
pursue her avocations with untiring indus
try and vulgar vigor; but, dear friends, I
am sure when you reflect on it, you will
admit she acted wisely and dutifully. She
had her own little dreams—she had her re
grets, but still, felt that she had a duty to
perform, which, although it afforded her no
time to waste in sickly sentiment, still af
forded sufficient opportunity of keeping old
memories alive in her heart. In her new
home, as in her old, she found many a
rustic admirer, and many a thriving old
farmer recommended her to his son as one
who would make “ a purty, smart, and in
dustrious wife.” But their advances were
discouraged, until the adjectives “ proud”
una “sassy were added to the list of her
virtues. Things were iu this state, when
one evening, an acquaintance had come to
spend the evening with Miss Nellie.—
When other topics were well-nigh ex
hausted, he asked—
“ Are you goin’ to preachin’ next Sun
day, Miss Nellie'?”
“ I suppose so. Who’s to preach ?”
“Oh ! there’s to be four or five preach
ers—it’s a quarterly meetin’, you know—
but there’s one in particular, a stranger,
who they say’s all sorts of a preacher.”
“Do you know his name?”
“ I did hear it; it’s—it’s—hang it, if I
aint forgot it!”
“It makes no difference, Mr. Smith,”
said Nellie, smiling at the poor fellow’s
anxiety to enlighten her. “If, as you say,
he is such a good preacher, his name will
soon spread.”
“ Sister Mary says you must be sure to
come, and go with her in the barouche.”
“ I will, with pleasure, and thank her
for her kindness.”
Sunday soon came, and there was an
overwhelming crowd assembled at the
meeting-house. It had been considered
necessary to construct a booth, or tempo
rary arbor, at the door, for the accommo
dation of those who could not secure seats
in the house. Nellie and her companion,
Mary Smith, being somewhat late, had
seats at the very extremity of the arbor—
thus debarred from the pleasure of seeing,
and almost of hearing, the new preacher,
who stood within the door of the meeting,
house. In a few moments after their arri
val, he opened the services of the day. He
read a hymn, and in a full, deep-toned voice,
and addressed the congregation in expla
nation thereof. That voice! what a chaos
ot conflicting feeling it stirred in Nellie’s
heart! What a crowd of old cherished
memories thronged on her soul at the
sound! it seemed so like, and yet so un
like, that of William Barton. It could not
—no, it could not be, that the shy, unpre
tending youth she had known three years
since, was now an eloquent minister of the
Gospel. The remainder of the sermon fell
on her ear like waking sounds mingled
with a dream, and as at intermission they
all assembled round rustic tables, yet re
fined cheer, she became assured of tha
fact that she stood within a very short dis
tance of William Barton. He was so sur
rounded by a group of his brethren and sis
ters in the church, that it was impossible,
had he been so inclined, for him to dispense
a shake-hands or a kind word outside the
phalanx ; but, being a stranger, and ex
pecting to see none but strange faces, his
curiosity was but little thwarted. Nellie,
by choice this time, occupied the same
seat that she had in the morning, and tried
to be very much interested in the sermon
by another preacher; she succeeded, as
far as poor human nature is capable of,
and, after the services were over, exchang
ed kind words and greetings with her ac
quaintance, in quite a natural tone. Wil
liam passed close to her on his way out,
with a wealthy brother in the church—and
whether it was the tone of her voice, or
fate, or accident, or design, that influenced
him, he turned abruptly round, just as Nel
lie performed the same evolution. Their
eyes met one instant—the next, he had
passed on, without a word or sign of re
cognition.
“ And this is the reward of my folly and
harshness,” thought poor Nellie, as, be
neath the folds of her green veil, the warm
tears flowed freely. She dared not trust
herself to mention his name when she
reached home, and, as none of the family
had been out that day, they remained in
ignorance, for the present, of her discovery.
Her domestic tasks seemed unusually
heavy on Monday, and, towards evening,
Nellie thought that perhaps she might find
amusement in the cultivation of the many
hued “Touch-me-nots” and “Ladies’ de
lights”—so she took her light hoe, and ac
complished wonderful revolutions among
her favorites, decapitating some and bury
ing others, until at length, as the evening
shadows began to deepen, she became
aware that sounds, very like those pro
duced by horse’s feet, were floating through
the still air to her ear. We are told by the
wise, that a kind of magnetism is always
operating on the system of lovers: this it
was, perhaps, that made Nellie’s heart flut
ter and thrill with a sweet presentiment.—
It was correct, too, for in another instant,
she recognized, and was recognized by, the
long-lost William Barton. It was very
un-preacher-like, but we feel constrained
to chronicle it, the peculiar curve he de
scribed in clearing the garden-fence, and
the ungenteel haste with which he pressed
his ideal of beauty, and loveableness, and
caprice, to his breast.
“ And you always loved me then ?’’ said