The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1837-12-30
CHAPTER VIII.


Post.
CHAPTER VIII.
"Some clouds sweep on as vultures for their prey,
No azure more shall robe the armament,
Nor spangled stars be glorious"
BYRoN-Lcaren and EARTH
1t was lovely evening in April the wea-
Their was unusually mild and serene for that
time Of year il the northern district of our
isle, and the bright drops of a recent shower
sparkled upon the buds Of the llach and la
burnum that clustered round the cottage Of
Maltravers. The little fountain that played
in the centre of circular basin, on whose
clear surface the broad-leayed water-lilly cast
its fairy shadow, added to the fresh green Of
the lawn
q And son as velvet, the young grass"
on which the rare and early flowers were
closing their heavy lids. That twilight show
er had given racy and vigorous sweetness
to the air, which stole over many bank Of
violets, and slightly stirred the golden ringlets
Of Alice, as she sat tby the side of her en-
tranced lover. They were seated on a rustic
bench just without the cottage, and the open
windows behind them admitted that view of
the happy room, with its litter Of books and
musical nstruments-eloquen Of the Poetry
Of Home.
Maltravers was silent, for his flexible and
excitable fancy was conjuring up thousand
shapes along that transparent air or upon those
shadowy violet banks. He was not thinking,
he was imagining. Hisgenius reposed dream
lily upon the calm but exquisite sense of his
happiness. Alice was not absolutely in his
thoughts, but unconsciously she colored them
all--if she had left his side, the whole charm
would have been broken. But Alice, who
was not poet or genius, t0as thinking, and
thinking only Of Maltravers. His image was
" the broken Mirror" multiplied in thousand
faithful fragments over every thing fair and
soft in lovely microcosm before him. But
they were both alike in one thing-they were
not with the future, they were sensible Of the
present; the sense of the actual life, the en-
joypent Of the breathing time, was strong
within them. Such is the privilege of the
extremes of our existence-youth and age.
Middle life is never with to-day, its home is
in tomorrow anxious, and scheming, and
desiriag,ssad wishing this plot EipeRed, and
that hope fulfilled, while every wave of the
forgotteR Time briggs it near an6 nearer the
end ofk&ll ahfngs.. Hak Dor life i3eonsumed
IN longing. % be neareu0ssth 20
} sAlice:s said Makra1Sps, waking at msl
from his revery, and craving that light, child
line fqsm nearer to him, "you enjoy this hdp,
3mueh % do
"Oh, much more" :.
"Mssef snd shyso7~N
\ sRscauss an thinking OF you, and per.
haps you afe notthipking of yourself"
Mafravers smiled and siroked those beau.
tiful rinslets, and Kissed that smooth innocen,
| forehead, and Alice nestled herself in his
breast 1How young you look by this light
Alice ~ said he, tenderly looking down.
would you love me lessif were old 2
asked Alice,
I suppose. should neysF have loved you
in the same way II you had been old when
first sac you"
:" Yeti am srre shorid have felt the
same for nv II you had besn-oh! ever SC
old"
"wha. With slinklod checks, and palsied
head, and abrowa wig, anda0 teeth, like Mr.
Sincox ~ S.
"Oh, but youconld never be like that! =
You would alwaYs look yopng--your hear
would be alwsy$Ah yous That dea
smile-ah, yqeuld Pifnl to the
last :" -
Dson DI' a s'ss ~ .n nsT lli as'