The Middlebury people's press. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1841-1843, 1842-09-20

sage 10 the Dead and when thew had n,
longer voice fol either, they were hearc
whispering these stances, till even thei
whispers became inarticulate. They called
their remaining brother, Hannah, and tbei
mother about their bee, kissed first one cheel
and then the other of each, pressed theil
hands, and added: the greater numbe,
are now in the country where we are going,
We will tell them that our brother and moth.
er are going to be as firm and noble minded
as our dear sisterl' They died within three
minutes of each other. 1t should have been
remarked, that they were twin sisters -
lovely IN life, and in death not divided. -
The last victim was Thomas, and his death
was not less calm and triumphant than that
OF those who preceded him. 1t NAV seem
narrative strange to my character and
years, this In which | am now occupied
but L trust there are some other Young
men beside myself, who can sometimes
thrill with the emotions that such scenes are
calculated to inspire; and ii brings to me,
when l remember that | have in my turn TO
die, melancholy pleasure to reflect, that
this last enemy can thus be met. even by
the feeble minded, calmly and triumphantly.
There was quiet, dignified. and I'M
pretending calmness in the mourning of
thus mother and daughter, which could
wish that every mourner might see.
1t was evident, that the hearts home of
these desolate strangers was now in the
country where the greater portion of their
number had preceded them. But they did
not so interpret their dying charges, as to
consider it a duty to forget the living, in
dwelling upon the memory of the dead. On
the contrary, they had been expressly char
ged by the beloved departed, that duty re-
mains when all things else pass away. an
immortal obligation. A salutary change
had passed over the mother, in experiencing
these sweeping calamities. She has be
come quite as industrious, and almost as
firm and energetic, as her admirable daugh-
ter.
Early last Spring, one of our neighbors,
a very rich widower, without child, some
fifteen years older than Hannah, a good
natured, simple, money getting, inert, good
for nothing sort of parsonage. became smit-
ten with the excellent orphan mourner of
our family, and offered himself in form,
through her mother. Every body, at a
single view, seemed to consider the offer an
admirable one for The lady, in every respect.
1t was discussed by her mother, in con-
clave with my parents, some time before it
was submitted to herself, and so naturally.
do mothers. advancing in years, take the
impress of the thoughts of those about them,
that Mrs. Hervey adopted at once the views
of my parents; and The rather, as she had
become attached TO them, and the town in
which they llved,and as this marriage would
insure the mother and daughter an indepen-
dence, and perpetual residence among their
friends. L supposed, as matter of course,
that she would adopt their views, and be
swayed by their wishes, to marry this rich
lnanity. So deep was my friendship for
her, so like love the sentiments of homage
and respect which entertained, that was
half inclined to make an effort to WOO the
lovely mourner myself, to save her from a
still more more unworthy union.
Thankful and rejoiced was to hear the
result of the interview of the wealthy sutton.
The object ofhis passion affected no pru-
derry, no Discrimination to marriage. She
limited at the dreadful scenes which within
a year had blighted her affections and with
cred her heart ,rendering her asshe believed,
incapable for the present of the love which
a wife should bear her husband. But she
added with her customary magnanimous
Iranknenss. q will not dissemble with my
mother and these my dear friends, and as
sign the sterility ofmv stricken heart as the
reason why decidedly reject him. re-
gard marriage as so night and proper for an
unprotected. and especially poor woman,
and consider convenience, and the pros
pect of temporal comfort and a sufficiency.
such essential elements in motives to in
luce one to marry, that if had esteem for
his man, and any ground to believe that [
could ever like him, would ask him to |
wait until had made the effort. But this /
nan i understand you--h his looks, his |
cmper, his circumstances, are all much in
his favor. But there are some associations
hat cluster round my internal image of
- for grave and melancholy as
you seem to consider me, have sometimes
lrawn this ideal picture - which are most
emote from any thoughts that can con-
lect with this man. Alas | would say,
n the customary phrase, that thank him
or his good opinion of me, and so forth
,ut it would not be true, and do no; thank
lin. | am sure that never could regard
lin with any feeling but one so nearly ALI
ID to loathing, that | would not marry him
or the world. | am not so good as you
lffect to think me, but a very proud, and
perhaps capricious girl. do think, that
woman, in no age of time, was ever consid-
,red such a miserable slave as that univer-
al impression views her, which adiudges
hat rich fool, if he be neither brute nor
| demon, ought 10 be accepted BY the first
'oOr girl 10 whom he offers himself. 1t is,
t must be, a penance to live in this relation
With a fool for life, and am determined not |
o marry for penance. Others may consid-
sr girl like me a marketable article, if they
choose. | am not in the market, on this
condition. | am contented as am, and
while possess these hands. shall always