The Middlebury people's press. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1841-1843, 1842-12-28

she exclaimed, in falterlng voice, 'to-mor-
row is it possible that you leave so soonP
The young schoolmaster witnessed her
l emotion with thrill of Joy so intense it
was almost painful 1t cannot be that she
, is Indifferent to me he thought,-it cannot
bep
, Sit down with me here, Madeline he
said, leading her to the messy trunk OF
J fallen tree. You know l love, Madeline,
more than it is necessary master should
love his pupil. 1t may seem like presump-
ton in me to have hoped anything for this
love-but, Madeline, was there ever an af-
lection so lowly that it dared not hope? l
thought sometimes that your eyes, that your
voice responded to the tenderness OF my
own. | ventured to tell you of my love-
You received my expressions coldly. By
manner, ifnot by words, you forbade them
L ought not to complain that you did So
but there was an appearance of pride about
you at those times which deeply wounded
me. L could bear that my love should be
reIected-but oh Madeline, not scOrned
Perhaps misunderstood You. My affection
Is sensitive, it shrinks from the sacrilege of
contempt. Tell me, dear Madeline, that l
have wronged YOU
You have wronged yourself more, she
replied, her face still buried in her hand
kerchIet, to conceal the strong emotion
working upon it. You have wronged YOUR
self by supposlng for moment that the af-
lection OF so good, so pure, so true a heart
could awaken scorn In any human breast.
God bless you, Madeline | am mex
Pressibly thankful for these sweet words
Now hear me farther, | am, as yet, but
destitute boy. The humble salary of vii
lage schoolmaster is laid carefully aside to
meet the exigencies of college education.
Years must pass before shall be prepared
to engage actively in the duties and pur-
suits of manhood. My education and hum
bic talents will be my only wealth. Mad
cline, what right have Ito love-particu-
larry one superior to me in years, in wealth,
In all personal and mental endowments -
But more than all, what excuse have | for
hoPe-hope, which is the aliment on which
love feeds When think of these things
my heart fails me. | am almost ready to
despair. Tell me at once my doom, dear
Madellne-and whatever it may be, God is
my witness that | will not repine'
Madeline lifted her head, and turned her
blushing, animated face toward her lover
The sentence shall not be severe, she re-
piled, in a voice that fell on his ear like de-
licious music. Were not every lover per-
United to apotheosize his lady, should
chide you for the comparisons you have
made. | allow that | am your superior in
years, perhaps also in wealth-but certainly
in all other respects am more than COM
mensurably your inferior | deny not that
| love you as | never have loved, never can
love another. Yet | have shrunk from ma
king this avowal-shrunk even from hear
ing your confession, but not because was
proud. The future is so uncertain, Henry
You who are so old in knowledge and in
talent, are yet young in years and feelings.
Six or eight years of your age, make won
derful changes even in the most constant
heart. While you are yet in the bloom of
manhood-the most joyous period of your
life shall be passing into the shadow of
mature and serious years. Will you love
me as well when you see time drawing his
unlovely traces upon my cheeks-perhaps
scattering silver hairs upon my head >
Shrink not from thinking of all these things,
Henry. You must bring them seriously
home to your heart, and ask its love if
through all these sober changes it can sur
vive as fresh and sincere as now. If ro-
mantle, if reason tells you it cannot, l beg
you to crush it in the bud, rather than
leave it to grow old and decay
Madeline Madeline if l loved YOU
| for your beauty, | might indeed tremble for
the constancy of my feelings. But mind,
/ heart-these cannot change in you, except
to grow yet more beautiful. Oh doubt me
not, Madeline. In sentiment | am not
young, for as told you once before, the
true element of my nature is deep and Sc
rious feeling. Romance NAV play upon the
surface, but beneath are deep and silent
waters. | do not ask you to plight your faith
to me, Madeline. | would not be so I'M
generous You have said that you love me,
and this assurance is sufficient Sufficient
heaven knows have no words to thank YOU
for 1t. | will bear it with me as a sacred
charm through long years of study and toll.
1t shall spur me on to do and be something
worthy OF your respect. We shall see each
other sometimes, dear Madeline. At Cam
bridge | shall be near you, and not suffer
you to forget me-
We leave the remainder of the converse
ton, so interesting to the parties, to be i'm
agined by our readers. 1t was in the COM
mon parlance Of lovers-a sweet language
to those who speak it from their hearts
Little plans were laid ; dawning hopes were
uttered, present assurances given. The !
poor old lady's herbs were forgotten till the !
falling shadows of evening warned them it |
was too late to think of adding anything to !
the store; so they returned arm in arm to |
Aunt Lydia's, happy and hopeful, but with
a shadow on their brows at the thought of
parting.
As the young schoolmaster was to leave |
early in the morning he did not long delay
his adiews. A few minutes after he had !
gone, Aunt Lydia drew her chair close be-
side Madeline and placed her arm tender