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Hortland
“GOULD & ELWE.
BY LL,
Office 80 Middle, near Corner of Exchange St.
RMS: $1,560 PER YEAR.
TE:
One Dollar for Eight Months, in advance.
AN INDEPENDENT FAMILY JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, NEWS, &&.
- YOnUME XIV.
POETRY,
A DREAM,
"I deeampt thy bead was on my shoulder leaning,
mine was gently pressed ;
‘roind even, so soft and full of meaning,
Were bent on me and I w
No word was spoken: all was aleg:.
The silent transport of the heart,
The tear that o'er thy cheek was stealing,
what words could ne’er
Ana can this be bat mere illusion?
‘Can faucy all so real seem?
Here faney’s scenes are wild confusion—
‘And ean it be I do not dream?
I'm sure I felt thy forehead pressing,
very breath stole o'er my cheek ;
% Tmsure I saw those eyes confessing «
‘ , What thy tongue could never speak.
\ _ Ah! now 'tis gor
1) "Sore such waking bliss ean be,
' Ol! I would sleep forever,
“Could Lbut always dream of thee!"
AVTRUE TMM
THE DEAD BRIDE.
BY ELIZABETH YOUATT.
ne, and nevi
And now, gentle reader, we will tell youa
_country story; one that actually took place far
away, among green fields and quiet woodlands,
\ Where it is related by the aged to this day,with
\ a simple and solemn truthfulness at. which you
«+ {¢annot choose but weep, although you will
ryan LIES resentle. smile, aud, bless fed, 35 hey neve}
le to do when they tell it.
Once upon a time, (we love to commence
jtbus, in memory of our happy childhoo#, whose
\pleasantest tales always begin. after this fash-
ion,)—Once upon a time there lived a young
* ‘girlmamed Hannah Lawrence..: She was an
jonly child, and as good and sweet tempered as
she was pretty. A little wilful, to be sure; it
is said that most women are ; but . then, as her
old father used to observe, she had such a win-
ning way. with her, that one could not help lov-
i ing her, do what she would. : There was an-
* other, besides Mr. Lawrence, who was much of
the same opinion, and IIannah felt it, and was
happier than she cared to let the world know
of, while the knowledge, so far from tempting
her to exercise the power she was conscious of
possessing, made her humble and meek-spirited.
To be'sure, she did contrive in general to get
her own way, but it was so quietly that her
lover yielded almost imperceptibly to her guid-
“ance. She who loves, and is beloved, should
feel her own responsibility, and be careful to
Dlend the wisdom of the serpent with the harm-
Jessness of the dove.
: When Robert Conway told his mother that
“he believed smoking did not agree with him,
_< | and that be should give it up—that he was wea-
' , Ty of the debating club, which. only led to
* drinking and quarreling, and thought his eve-
v4 ning would be much better spent at home;
pe she agreed, with a quiet smile, and blessed
: "Hannah Lavwrenea in her heart., |The aged
woman was fondly. attached to her intended
a . danghter-in-law, and had sufficient good sense
». tobe pleased rather than jealous of the influ-
ence which she possessed over Robert.
‘So you do not like smoking,’ said Mrs. Con-
way, casting at the same time a’ mischievous
glance toward Yannah, who at. that moment
entered, ‘Do you hear that [Iannah ?
‘Yes, mother,’ replied she, ' very demurely,
sand L cannot say that I am altogether sorry,
for it certainly “does make the breath smell
very unpleasantly, sometimes,
‘Bat my breath does not smell now, Ilannah
‘ dear!’ said Robert, kissing her.’ And, as the
i girl looked up into bis frank, Open countenance,
2 she longed to whisper, that smoke, or do what
\he would, she did not believe that ‘there was
} vk equal in the whole world. It was well,
a
ly ; mor one’s lover too mach. / Tt is different with
1 f a husband.
f up. Hannah sat between them,
with a hand in
(eae she was very happy.
A perhaps, that she did not; it will not do to hu-| 0 «:
PORTLAND, SATURDAY, JANUARY 25,
Why should it not be always thus? ? awhise
pered Robert Conway. The girl looked tim-
idly at his mother.
sAnswer him, Hannah,’ said she. <I alsoam
impatient to bave two children instead of one,’
But still she never spoke a word.
Mrs. Conway had been young herself, and
she rose up to leave them together; but Han-
nah would not suffer her.
‘Do not go, mother,’ said she timidly.
‘What is it you fear ?’ asked her lover, draw-
ing her gently towards him.
‘Only—only that this should be all a dream !’
And she rested her head upon his bosom and
wept.
Robert Conway smiled as he soothed and
kissed away her tears. . As Hannah said, even
then, it was too great happiness to last.
That night she told her father and mother
every thing, with many blushes, anda few
tears,.for she felt home-sick at the® thought of
leaving it forevery although it was to hve close
by; however, the day was at length fixed for
their marriage. An1 the old people blessed
her again with joyful hearts, together. with the
lover of her youthful choice.
‘Yes, he is’ worthy even of our Hannah!’
said Mrs. Lawrence,
‘Robert will at ‘spoil me, as. you do,’ said
the girl, stroking down the father’s long white
hair with playful fondness.
sI am not so sure of that, or how he will be
able to help it”
Hannah laughed, but there were tears in
her eyes, as ‘she bent down tokiss his withered
brow. The conversation now. turned upon
many things that were to be done and arranged
before the wedding could take place. Hannah
wished to have her young cousin, Maude Heth-
erington, sent for, who, with her ready inven-
tion and nimble fingers, proved a great acquisi-
tion on the occasion., Besides which, it was
very pleasant for the girls to talk together in
their leisure moments, or when they went to
bed at night, and often until morning dawned,
for Maude likewise expected to be married be-
fore another twelvemonth, and they had a
thousand things to say to one another. Maude
was older than her cousin, and sometimes took
it upon herself to play the monitress.
*Do you not humor Robert Conway almost
too much ?” said she one day.
‘Oh! not half enough! If you did but know
how kind, and good, and thoughtful he is!”
sYes, just now; but take care, or bye-and-
bye he will be playing the husband and the
tyrant.’
‘Arve all husbands tyrants ?’ asked Hannah,
archly.
‘Well, I do not know about that; but it will
not do to let them have their own way too much
beforehand.’
‘But I cannot help letting Robert have bis
own way, because, somehow, his way is always
mine. We certainly do think strangely. alike
about everything’
‘Not strangely, said Maude, with a smile—
«And so you have really consented to old Mrs.
Conway’s living in the same house.”
«It was my own suggestion. Robert is great-
ly attached to bis mother; and so am I, too, for
the matter of that. - The dear old lady seemed
quite beside herselt with joy when she heard
that sbe was not toquit the home of her child-
hood, where she had seen so many pleasant
days, and will again, please God; and blessed
and thanked me, with the tears in her eyes;
while Robert stood by, looking as happy as a
prince.» Dear Robert! he is so easily pleased,
easily made happy
“«Well, only hope you may never have
cause to be sorry for what you have done. For
my own part, I would not live’ with a mother-
in-law for all the world ?
Worthy! Oh, mother, he is. too good for
me
mposibt P senjied the old many seven if,
he Wtre the sie :
1851.
“But mothers-in-law are not always , alike,
Maude, dear.’
‘True; and to be sure, Mrs. Conway is very
kind and good-natured ; only a little too grave
to be a fit companion for a young girl like
ou,
, ‘But I mean to become grave, too, when I
am married,’ answered Hannah, with a smile.
About a week before the period fixed upon
for the wedding to take place, Hannah com-
plained of a sudden faintness, and looked so
pale that her mother and cousin were | quite
frightened.
‘Nay, it is nothing,’ said she, ‘but do not tell
Robert, lest he should be uneasy about me.’
Maude suppoted her to her chamber, and
persuaded her to lie down on the bed for a few
hours, after which she would get better again;
so that, by the time hér lover came in the eve-
ning, all traces of her recent indisposition had
entirely vartished. But she grew sad after he
was gone, and observed to her cousia that she
feared she had not deserved such happiness.
‘I thought so this morning,’ said Hannah,
swhen I was taken ill. Oh! Maude, if I were
to die, what would become of Robert? We
love one another so much.”
‘Hush ! replied Maude, «I will not have you
talk thus. God grant that there may be many
‘years of happiness in ‘store for my dearest
co at
Forgive mee
silly?
‘To be sure you are,’ said Maude kissing
her affectionately.
Every stitch in Hannah’s simple wardrobe,
even to her pretty white bridal dress, was of
her own setting. Many said what an industrious
little wife she would make ; and there were not
afew who envied Robert his good fortune, and
could have wished themselves exactly in his
place, although the girl would not have chang-
ed to have been made a queen. All the cakes,
too, were of her making, assisted by Maude
and her old mother, who could not, however,
do very much ; and it was cheerful enough to
hear them talking and singing over their pleas-
ant tasks. As Maude said, «What was the use
of being dull? for her part she could never
see anything in a wedding to make one weep,
unless, indeed, the bridegroom should be old or
disagreeable, or going to take her away from
all her kindred and friends ;. and even then she
would not marry unless she could love him well
enough to go cheerfully.’
+As for you, my dear cousin,’ added she,
sabout to be united to such aman as Robert
Conway, with a sweet little cottage close by, so
that you may see your father and mother ev-
ery day if you like—why, I could almost envy
you, if it were not for certain anticipations of
a similar happiness in store for myself Ah!
you shall come to my wedding by-and-by, and
see how merry we will be!’
+And belp to make these nice cakes, eh,
Mande?” said. Mrs. Lawrence, laughingly.—
«But you are looking pale, my child,’ added she,
turning to her daughter, «and we must not have
you tire yourself. There is another whole day
‘aLispered Hanuah, “fam vty
t
Hannah smiled, or rather tried to smile; and
tottering as she walked, went and sat down by
the door, as though she felt faint.
sAre you not well, cousin?’ asked Maude.
The girl’s lips moved fast, as they grew ev.
ery moment white and colorless, but no sound
came,
<It is only a fainting fit,’ said Maude, en-
deavoring to appear calm. ¢You had better
bathe her temples with a little cold water,while
I run for Mrs. Conway. I will not be gone a
moment, and she may advise us what to do.’
She soon returned, followed at a distance by
the feebler steps of her aged companion. Rend-
ered utterly helpless by griet and terror,- Mrs,
Lawrence could only: wail and wring her hands
like a distracted thing, calling in passionate ac-
cents upon the name of her child, while Mrs.
NUMBER 414
Conway, whose presence of mind never for
sook her, directed Maude to send immediately
for the doctor, applying in the mean time all
the restoratives usual on such occasions; but
her care was vain. Between them these aged
women bore the stricken girl in their arms,and
laid her on the bed, where she remained white
and motionless, as though carved out of stone.
Seeing that there was no more to be done, Mrs.
Conway knelt down and prayed as we only
pray at such times as these.
Maude returned with the doctor, and they
tried to bleed her without success. . All their
attempts to restore animation were in vain;
the girl never spoke again, but died towards
morning peacefully and. without a struggle.—
Once only she opened her eyes, and looked
around her with a wild agonizing glance that
was neve? forgotten by those who witnessed it.
Mrs. Conway closed them softly and she never
moved after that.
Pale and horror-stricken, Robert made one
of the little g-oup who stood weeping in their
vain grief around the bed of death. And,
when his mother rose at length from her knees,
and laying her hand upon his shoulder, said in
a solemn voice, half choked by tears—The
Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away ;
blessed be the name of the Lord? his heart re-
fused to utter, Amen!
Maude’s grief was deep and passionate, but ,
noting in comparison to tue wild lamentations. -
of the bereaved parents ; until at length, com-
pletely worn out, they both fellasleep by tke
bedside of their dead child, and dreamed that
the wedding-day was come. Mrs. Conway had
taken her son home, thinking he would be
more likely to recover his composure, away
from that terrible scene ; and poor Maude crept
about\ the house, putting out of sight all the
simple bridal finery, over which they had taken
so much pains only the day before. «As for
the cakes, thought she, they must do for’ the
funeral.” And she began to weep afresh as
she recalled to mind all the pleasant words and
merry jests that had been uttered over by
them ; almost the last words that Hannah was
ever, heard ® speak being in playful anticipa-
tion of an event that was not tobe. Of a
truth it was very terrible! No wondcr that
poor Maude felt heart-stricken, and like one in
a frightful dream. _ No wonder that she sobbed
and cried, when even a strong man like Robert
Conway wept. Every moment that Mrs. Con-
way could spare from the side of her half dis-
tracted son, was spent at the cottage, where sbe
assisted Maude in performing those sad, but
necessary offices, of which the poor old mother
in-her deep affliction, seemed utterly incapabley
speaking words of comfort and endeavoring to °
improve this melancholy event to the beart of
her young companiog, by teaching her the frail-
ness of all earthly hopes.
Two days and nights had elapsed since the
spirit of the young and beautiful betrothed had
passed away without a word, or a prayer; and
the two sorrowful mothers sat together in the
dim twilight, exchanging now and then a few
kind words, but more frequently remaining six
lent for long intervals, during which memory
was no doubt busy enough. Maude was a lit-
tle apart by the half-open casement, working
on a black gown for Mrs. Lawrence to wear at
her child’s funeral, and pausing every now and
then, to wipe away the blinding: tears that
hindered her from seeing what she was about ;
and thinking the while, perhaps, of a certain
dress, over which she had taken so mach pains
fora far different occasion.
«Itis toodark I am sure, for you to see to
work Mande,” said Mrs. Conway, at length;
and her voice sounded strangely loud in ‘that
silent room. «Go into the field, dear cbildand
look for your uncle; it is late for him to be
out alone.”
The girl did as she was desired, and found
him kneeling amid the long grass, with his
white hairs uncovered, and the tears streaming