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| PORGRAR ANS@RIPE.
A WEEKLY JOURNAL, DEVOTED TO GENERAL INTELLIGENCE, ET C.
- ~~ . r * Ae he
TIVO DOLLARS A YEAR.) SUBSCRIPTIONS RECEIVED AT THE OFFIVE, NO, 18, MIDDLE STREET. FRAYABLE IN ADVANCE it
PORTLAND, SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1889. : No. 45.
sad ‘mile — there was a shade mingled with | peculiar sympathies with the departed. — Sister
its brightess, like the clouds of beauty and | always ridiculed these sentiments in me; but
‘
| ORIGINAL TALES,
; F he Trans t. : OB : : . . . .
t [For the Pranseript.] EMMA GRAY, of light that float over the serene upper blue ;| have still cherished them, and believe the in-
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8
f
i
WINTER, : — . .
we love to look upon them, but to the spirit,| fluence on my life has been most happy. ~
g avything but joyousness — we seem | If children were made more familiar with the
- BY BELL TRACY.
Old Winter has come! with his frozen locks . — they b
> y
| With his beard of frost and his mantle of snow; Whi eaten’ and sorrow Battie ! instinctively to remember that their brightness | thoughts. of another. world —if they were
be Cold ivicles hang from the eaves and the rocks, Suns : voand rain at oncee. {Shakepeare aes | conceals gloom, and that © their form is pligit-) taught that God sympathized in all their little
~ Ae is the ang of the rivulet’s flow. — ed to some coming thunder gust.” She di-| pure pleasures, and that He is a being of love
1e Forest is leafless, deserted and bare, . . cn . : eet +
H Save the pine whose dark bouehs still enliven It was a sunny afternoon in June. » [ had |rected my eye to her pulse, and said — ‘ time-| and tenderness, whom they can approach with ;
| the air 3 ° unconsciously dropped my needle, and had jless aud heavy — wearily and slow — it tells/ all, their little sorrows, It they were less care-
he The flowers are all withered,the birds are all gone, been looking out upon the green fields which | that the season of strength bas passed, lessly taught, that his eye is ever upon us:—
And the spirits of Suamer, they all, all are flown. sloped in front of my window. The river,| ‘1 have been trying, Ella, for the last halt If they were induced by the glowing | portrais-
i No more can we roam by the running brook’s side, | Winding away between its borders of green,in-| hour, to recall some tone of wy childhood, |ure of His rove, to rejoice in that unceasing
a Or hail with the lark the gay landscape of morn; | terspersed with violets, and that other gentle|that I may not seem wholly to unsympathize| watehfulness ; and ever to think, in all their
HY No more does the pleasure boat rock on the tide, spring flowers, the lowly Houstonia, till finally |in the gladness of: our common Mother, but) little wishes, whether God would approve, pa-
i Oh ! Suanner,its joys und its bright hours are gone! it made an abrupt bend, and was hid by anar-|the very effort is a mockery, and my lips, on-| rents would indulge far less trembling end : sor-
3 But though chilled by the frost is the voice of the | row strip of woods, .'The sheep in the distant|ly utter the low, broken moanings of the dy-|rowful anticipations,
4 rill vasture, fur the most part were nibbling injing; yet, Ella, itis not that my heart is sad 5 “ Bur, Ella, [will not tax you too much to- ~
’ V
Tho’ the air of the morning is stifening and chill; | the shade, whilst the cows had quietly laid it is the impotence of mortality that so feebly night with the philosophy to which you have
Tho’ cheerless and bare is the lone freee pathy | them down till the noonday heat had passed ;;responds to the joyousness of the out door|so often listened. IL prefer to tell you, how
Stern Winter its fund of enjoyment sath. . [save one or two, which seemed unconscious | world, How little could I have thought, when | distinctly come back the long winter evenings
The moon's in the sky, and the snow’s on the plain, . . . . . .
Th h wind is whirling th hite flakes about of the sultry heat, so intent were they in gra-| | was a gay, glad-hearted child, living among|in my cottage home, when the moon had light
ne north wind is whirling the white flakes about 5 - ~ 4
oe o- . . | zing, now b — the flowers ks, tha : ed up the broad expanse of ‘snow-crust, and
And the river, fast bound in its fost-jswelled chain, n alf hid among the bushes — now : uwers, and brows » that T could ever feel k I iu in ve i : . ea
’ - . : en gree y > resigns 7 s SS WAS 2 si K sa
Rings sharp to the skater’s encouraging shout. in the open green, their heads ever down, andthe re iguation that I do to de th. There is|the stillness was 1 most un ro en, save by the
, Now they follow the stream its windings along, their long tails, seduously employed in sweep-|vew vothing in the thought from whieh my dropping of the glittering icicie from the erys-
hey folloy Bs $ si 5 . tk ar r . . x TT + i
While their leader trolls forth his light jocund |ing the flies from their sides, There was ot |spiri » for a moment, shrinks. Everything! tal branches of the tl elms, which stood be-
air to stir'a wind-harp 5 and the leaves seem-| Which | have loved and clung to, comes only |fore the house, | could not Lear to look ‘out
vy song ;
\ Now they cy atop and collect, then wheel in their/ed hanging listless from their boughs. All ns -|to smile upon me and soften the path E tread, upon such evenings — though achild, the pale,
i t play, ture was in repose, and as L gazed upon the) This is a beautiful world!—a beautiful world !? | spiritual moonlight, the slow creeping shad- : .
Her) Then o o'er the river! away ! away! quiet loveliness, a strange happiness grew up-jand then she put her hand to her side, and} OW, and the profound stillness, that speak of
i . Andit circles the blood with a quicker Bow, oo the heart — the spirit seemed to blend in | said — ‘but E have often to speak patience to desolation, filled me with a strange awe, that
y) Sends a thriilof delight thre’ (he heart's very more; harmony with the deep beauty that rested up-|the trembler, here, Jtis wearied with bonds| %@s painful to my young heart; and [ would
Po the limbs it gives vigor, and spreads a bright! oy the earth, 1 forgot that there was aught| and seems like the fluttering bird, that looks |Sitthrough the long hours, by the blazing fire,
and strive to forget that cold, desolate moon,
in filling my little dipper, with bumpers of
glow, of'sin or sorrow here. It seemed a world of) through the bars of its narrow prison upon its
O'er the cheek of the Youth where was psleness be- | hol d | |
: : | holy and pure creations, Hill aud valley —| native home, longing to burst its confinement,
ura, y mnt ° q ek ont
. ws we jriver and rill —the woods with their thousand and bathe in a purer element. But fam in| parehed corn ; and when the clock struck nine,
O'er the glittering snow see the sleigh-riders fly, | . her wou'd dr i 1]
|warblers, and the silvery cloud, as it rested on jy usual way, thinking all thoughts aloud to mother woutd dress me in my long woolen
"
eae
ae
And hark to the song as they ewilily glide by ; . . . mm :
7 tt merry ‘sleigh-belly, | He bosom of the lear, blue deep of Heaven,) you. We have been so friends from infancy, night frock, and put me in my nice warm bed,
‘ and it isso very sweet to speak sé freely. — and put her arm around my neck, whilst I re-
Aud hark ' tothe soun¢
Asthey ringthro’ the forest, o’er hill tops and}
only breathed of holiness, purity and happi
Le
. ness. | Ela, will you brush my hair a litde,and L will) petted the praver she taught me in lisping in-
Far happier they than the sickening throng, Vhe hours had flown, and the breeze as it! ‘tell you how much I have thought of my dear faney ; and then, ber fond kiss, ever fresh,
Woo swell the ery circles in Fashion proud halls; | rose from its slussbers, and Ganced lightly on | farher end mother tovtay.” and love-stirring ; and then, I knew, that she
And sweeter ! firxweeter the rustic’s light song! | the bright waters, and came sweepiog over) As she changed her position a little, and I would come again to my. bedside, and agais
i Than on the palled ear of the courtier falls the broed fields, dissipated my dveatus, just as) saw the hectic, burning with an intenser glow, kiss me, when {should be unconscious of ber
j ‘Tis the wane of the. mown, and ‘her struggling a slight tep atary door was heard and a little | and her eye strangely lighted with a deep soul-| Presence — ny dear, dear mother ! she so pes
light |xirl entered, and said, Aunt Exima would like | at ring brillinuee, | feared she would exhaust! fectly understood my nature. She knew, if £
Beams fauntly ard dim oo the traveler's sizht 5 [ty sa you this afternoon, |her strength, and asked if she-did uot feel tuo | left my play-fellows,it was because my strength
And the storing clouds dackly and gloomily, “ How is Enima,? I asked? {itt for so much exertion? was completely exhausted; and if [threw my-
Are Ue iving up al mg the ye | “She says she feels quite bright this after-|, «Qh uo — LE have unusual strength this af-|S¢! down on: the green earth, that I was for-
But white inn the aera jocn, a and would like to see you sometimes in|ternoon, and should almost believe 1 should | getting any play, my fatigues, and my pains,
, While clouds as veil the skies, [her better moments,” . . Jentirely recover had [not learned, to bave lit-| in fe asting on the beautiful creations of Gods
And the mourr sal winds pipe lond and shrill, | immediately put on my bonnet, and a few jtle confidence in the mere well seening of lit and if { stole to my room, and sought rest om
Within the ruddy blize mounts up; j momen nis found mein the room with dear Em-, jbut, when | found myself feeling so much bet-| my own little couch, she knew that I was not
Free ¢ireles the story and the cap; } ‘The blind was partly thrown back, | ter | lefi the present, and went far bi ack, Efla,/sad, for she had taught me that murauring
The generous ale they praise aud quaf, | her exsy chair was drawn ip front, and she|to the days, When you and Lused to play with|and repining was sinful, She enabled me te
And inerrily sounds the joker's laugh. | Was leaning back with ber white frock unelas-/our dolis in my mothers little tidy sitting}support cheerfully the many ills which ae-
i | ped atthe throat, and a smile of radiance |room, Whilstshe was busy with her need!
company the feeble from birth, by early mak-
They heed not the storm, for in Summer they tile al : ‘ aye | » :
3 ag from her eye, as she looked pou the and then, you remember, when my father|ing my tind astorehouse of pure, and happy
une ia, he would take ove on each knee, aud|thoughts. And then, Etla, that first, saddest
. . «| bette
. The soil which was promised to yield trem 18 orld
wor
|
. : +H without. As I entered, she stightly rais-|
if strength ; ou . i . cos . .
S| , jec herself, and held out her hand, (rolie so meritly with us, that my another|Ume in allimy lite, when my fond, indulgent
The harvest is over, their evllars are filed, col ' wy | ! ,
- . . soe | 6G said she, amg ave come say, she ¢ 2| o . -| father, anc y re, seule e |
And the firmer's permitted t enjoy them at Jength— | ny”? sard she am glad you have come.) sould say, sie could uot tell which of the} father, and my pure, geute mother, were both
So ‘ris with olds who his manhood improves | Come sithere by.my window ; how. reft ah- lire Wwasmostthe child, My gentle, patient} ill with the dreadtul fever, chat left mea love
age 5 hi :
Contented and happy and reverenced moves jing this breeze is. You see Lam drinking i it jother -— how kindly she would put aside her} orplai.”
Free frou remorse and the world’s ceaseless strife, jin | work, when J had spent my strength in play,| She now trembled with the effort to suppress
| ler emotions, but the heavy tear-drops rolled
Both loving and loved in the downhill of jife. I drew my chair by her side, and she cou-!and told me to ber bosom, and call me ber]!
Then bewait not the summer's departure, ifthine | |tinued.? jerry oue, and regret that Tresembled her,| ver liér now flushed cheeks, and | begged Rs
Sa abreast where contentment and innocesce dwells} « Every thing is waking into life after this/notaleue in lineaments, but in feebleness of {der to desist. Ina (ew moments she regained y
composure, and said—
. . > will follow. and ill . we
For spring time will f Howe, aud waray suns will }oypressive day ; but this waking into lite, this eansti ution, Ou, so vividly have ali the
|
. “2 . |
ty tothe before beautiful in nature, makes | with its woodbine clinging around itsdoor and
“Oh, iny lite lias be no, [think, very happy.
ft has cowparatively, if uot so much as it
should bave been, My heaviest afllictious have
shine, increasing vigor, which adds so in ich of beau-| scenes connected with that low white house,
And soft dews will sleep in the coy lily- bell,
Bach season hath joys which the other has not ;
And wherever we roan there is always one spot,
Where the spring's most refreshing, the summer
Ella, feel more truly, if noc more | windows, come to me, that | have felt a ehitd
again, wud living ia the presence of those: su} ieen the loss of f
rectly from the band of God, that we teel ihe
me, d
ids, and such seem so di+
painfully, that the loveliness of earth will have
most brigitt, oun passed forever to me.” long since gone. fs it not sweet to believe that
‘Aud where even winter's dark day is made light
Pr. smiled as her eye rested upon it—a sweet,’ seems to me, there are times, when we have edbort « resignation, allied to bappiness, ov I
Wickedness of murmuring, and gain through
‘Theu she held out her thin wasted arm, and | | those who have loved us, are near