Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1835-12-10
From the Ne,o- EHeiamt Reoip,c.
MY BROTHERS GRAVE"

Now let me split that for you," said I,
| as sprang from the wagOn-seat to the
ground, before neat little cabin, in the
very heart Of the Green Mountains; 'sthat
axe was never made for such little hands,"
The sound of my voice was the first inti-
nation Of the approach or presence of
| stranger. A girl of beautiful form, whose
face l had not yet seen, owing to the in
clined posture which her task required,
sprang almost from the ground, at such an
unexpected interruption of her labor and
letting The axe, which she could scarcely
lift, fall across large billet Of hickory
which she had made infinite, though futile
before me, and parting away her an exu-
berance of unadorned ringlets which had
fallen down over pair Of lovely ey es, she
discovered to me face crimsoned over,
not with blush of mortified pride. at being
surprised in an employment SO i'll fitted to
the delicate capacities Of her sex, but with
that chasle carnation, which, in portraiture
of the finest attribute Of female character,
will slightly tinge an honest woman's cheek,
on being accosted in a solitary place, by "a
gentleman and stranger. "lf were
your BROTHER said !, cleaving apart the
hacked billet with one blow, and striking
the axe up to the eye, in an old beechen
log lying near with another" If I were
your brother, l would split down hem
lock .stamps for fuel, with my old jack
knife, before would allow this rough axe
helve to blister up those little bands" AS
prise, SD as to speak but as was asssv-
/ ,saH, AL,
with which would, as a brother, relieve
her from what seemed to be her daily task,
| saw the water stand in her soft blue eyes
while she continued to look at me with
such an atteMpered expression of sorrow
and gratitude, as made me drop the axe,
as in reverence ofsome sorrowing angel.
" If you were my sister," said l, from the
fullness of my heart " if I had such sis
ter would would"--and so would he,
said she. pointing to an unpublished frag-
ment of marble slab, at one corner of lit
tie garden spOt-sO would he, aud did,
when h, was pale and sick, until cold
drops of sweat would run down his hollow
cheeks; nor would he, she sobbed, let mc
have that axe, even when he was SD dizzy
that he could not stand without leaning on
my arm. Poor boy ! cried she, giving such
a vent to her tears as made me weep in
sympathy. Poor brother Even on that
sorrowful evening, when our poor old
grand crept to the door, and held
her CtIerkeTed apron up la her eyes, as sba
saw her two unprovidsd. liitle grand child
rem returning in tears, from the grave OF
their father and mother even then poor
Henry said to me, as held him up along
the garden aisle; know, Lucy, that |
shall not come out again To set down with
you, beside that little mound, where they
put father and mother when we were SO
young. No, Lucy. you will have to 60
alone Tomorrow morning, 10 pull up the
weeds that may Tonight spring up around
their grave. Don't cry, sister. 1 should
not grieve to lie down beside them if you
had a brother to take care Of you. and grand
mother. after I am gone. But cheer up,
Lucy; and when they lay me down beside
our dear parents-and when you come to
place at the head of my grave, that little
fat white stone which we secured up the
other day, remember, sister, that you have
a Friend aboce the stars ,Oh0 stickefh cLO-
ser than a br0ther-wbo will not let the
singing winds Of winter shake too hard the
lonely home Of the orphan and widow
nor permit the rushing torrents Of these
mountains to Overwheim the little cabin,
whence the prayer Of the fatherless comes
to his ear. night and morning. The sob
bling girl buried her face in her coarse fan
mel apron, and wspt aloud, as she repeated
for the first Tins. TO amy one except her
grand mother. the parting words Of her dy-
ing brother. had lost brother, and /
bent down to pick up the fallen axe, as a
shift to conceal the tears that felt on my
own cheek. A fiitering moment that will
outlive the memory Of busy years-and TAX.
ing hold Of the eads of her fingers with one
hand, led her in silence. a few steps to-
wards that sacred place. where they had
buried her father, mother, brother, and all
her earthly hopes. Aud hadst thou bat
one brolher3" said /, pointing with the axe
helve to the little monumental piece Of mar
BILE which she had SO often washed with
her toars-'. hadsi thou but one brother,
and does he lie there !" She could Dot
speak; bat kneeliDg down she put her fin
ger upon the inscription, and1et her head
fall upon the stone; and then knew that
there was no one that stood upon tho earth,
in whom she had hope. ] knelt dcwa TO
read it. No benevolent son Of Old Nor
tally had ever come over these mountains
to etch for her, the name Of that poor boy,
in the coarse stone which she had placed
/ 4 nstss