Literary cadet, and Saturday evening bulletin. [volume] (Providence, R.I.) 1826-1827, 1826-10-14
MISCELLANY.
LUCY OF THE FOLD.


Many tame tradition, embained in a
few pathetic verses, lives for ages, whlle
the remembrance of the most affect
general emotion, fades ike the mist, and
leaves heart-rending grieis undeplored.-
Elements and dmges might indeed have
well been sung amidst the green runs OF
yonder cottage, tha! looks now almost like
fallen wail-at best, the remnants oi
cattle-shed shaken down by the storm.
Twenty years ago--how snort time III
national history-how long IN that OF prl-
vate sorrows all tongues were speaking
of the death that there beiel: and to have
seen the weeping, you would have thought
that the funeral could never have been tor
gotten. But stop now the shepherd Oh the
hill, and ask hun who lvei OF old in that
nook, and chance Is, he knows not even
their name, much less the story vi their al
fllctions. That farmhouse was inhabited
by Allan Fleming, his wife, and an only
child, known iamiliarly in her own small
world, by the name Of Lucy Of the Fold
In almost every vale among the mountains,
there is its peculiar pride--some one crea-
ture to whom nature has been especially
kind, and whose personal beauty, sweet
ness OF disposition, and Ielt superiority Of
mind and manner, single her out, uncon-
sciOusly, as an object Of attraction and
praise, making her the l.ay-day Qaeen Of
the unending year. Such II daring was
Lucy Fleming, ere she had finished her
thirteenth year; and strangers, who had
heard tell Of her lovehncss, often dropped
in, as if by accident, to see the Beauty of
Rydalmere. Her parents rejoiced In their
child ; nor was there any reason why they
should dislike the expression of delight and
wonder, with which SO many regarded her.
Shy was she as woodland bird, but as fond
Of her nest too and when there was moth
ing near to disturb, her lie was almost a
perpetual hymn. From joy to sadness, and
from sadne to joy; from silence to song,
and from song to silence from stiffness like
that Of the butterfly on the flower, to mo-
ton like that of the same creature, wave
ring in the sunshine over the wood-top,
was to Lucy as welcome change, as the
change of lights and shadows, breezes and
Gains, in the mountain-country Of her birth.
One summer day, youthful stranger
, appeared at the door of the house, and az
ter an hours stay, during which Lucy was
from home, asked if they would let him
have lodgings with them for few months:
single room for bed and books: and that
he would take his meals with the family.
Enthusiastic boy to him poetry had been
the light of life, nor did ever hero Of poetry
belong more entirely than he to the world
OF i'm gination. He come into the free
mountain region, from the confinement of
college walls, and his spirit was expanded
within him like a rainbow. No eyes had
| he for realities all nature was seen in the
light Of fancy not single object at sun
| rise and sunset the same. vi was beautI-
ful within the circle of the green hill tops:
whether shrouded IN the soft mists, or
clearly outlined il cloudless sky. Home,
friends, cottages, cities, all sunk away into
oblivion, and Harry Howard iet as if watt
ed of on the wings of n spirit, and set
down in a land beyond the sea, foreign to
all he had before experienced, yet in its
perfect and endless beauty appealing every
hour more tenderly and strongly to spirit
awakened to new power, and revelling in
new emotion. In that cottage he took up
his abode In few weeks came library
of books, in all languages and there was
much wondering talk over all the country
side, about the mysterious young stranger
who now lived at the Fold.
Every day, and when he chose to alb.
sent himself from his haunts among the
hills, every hour, was Lucy before the
young poets eyes and every hour did hei
beauty wax more beautiful in his imagina
ton Who Mr.. Howard was, or even j
that were indeed his real name, no one
| h,N IL l.
gentle birth, and all with whom he had ev
or conversed in his elegant amenty, could
have sworn that youth SO bland and free
and with such voice, and such eyes, woult
not have injured the humblcst of Cod
creatures, much less such creature as Lu
ey Of the Fold. II was indeed even So
for, before the long summer days wer
gone, he, who had never had a sister, low
ed her even as il she had slept on the sam'
maternal bosom. Father or mother h