The Middlebury people's press. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1841-1843, 1842-01-04

as the reward of his long and valuable servi-
ces. She had lost her mother almost before
she knew her, and all her filial affection was
centered in her only surviving parent; her
( heart she bestowed upon Edmund, and he was
by no means insensible of the value of the
gIft. They had been companions from their
infancy. All their recollections of times past
were the same, for all their amusements and
studies had been similar. But Edmund had
made considerably more progress than Flor
ence. Nature had heaped upon him all those
mental endowments that constitute genius.
She had given him mind capable of the
most profound aspirations; a heart that could
feel more deeply, fancy that could wing
holder fight, than those of most other youths
of his age. He, as yet, knew nothing of the
state of society beyond the limits of WOODBURY..
! He had never been more than twenty miles
from home during his whole life.
But ne was now eighteen and Florence was
only year younger. They had ceased TO be
boy and girl. She indeed, would have been
contented to have continued as she was forev-
er, best with her fathers and her lovers afcc-
ton; more ihan happy in the discharge of her
domestic duties; In her summer evening ram
bles in her books, her bees, her fruits and her
flowers. But Edmund, although lie loved her
with all the enthusiasm of first love, had
more ambition in his nature. lie wished to
mingle in the crowd, in the pursuit of glory;
and he had hopes that he might outstrip at least
| some of his competitors. Besides, he was not
possessed of an independent fortune, and cx-
ertion, therefore, became duty.
| His resolution was at once formed; he de-
! termlned to fix his residence in London, for at
least couple of years, and ascertain whether,
in truth, ability was there its own reward. 1t
was sad news to Florence; but on reflection on
the advantages which Edmund might derive
! from the execution of the scheme, she looked
upon her grief as selfish. and endeavored to re-
I strain it. The evening before he left Wood
( burn they took a farewell walk in her father S
garden. Florence had succeeded in keeping
up show of cheerfulness during the day, but
as the yellow beams of the setting sun came
streaming in through The poplars and elms
| that lined the wall, and as she thought how of.
ten they had seen the sun set before, and how
long it would be ere they should see it set a.
gain, thought which vibrated through -her
heart, and she could no longer restrain her
tears. Edmund besought her with the utmost
tenderness of manner, not to give way TO e.
motions so violent; 1ut SIC only locked his
hand more firmly in her own, and amid the
convulsive sobs, repeated again and aguii;,
edmund! we shall never meet morel am
confident we shall never meet againi' Her
lover had recourse to every soothing argument
he could think of; but although she at length
became calm, gloomy presentiment of future
evil seemed to have taken possession of her
mind.
A year elapsed and Edmund's early dream
was more than realized. He had risen into
( fame at once: his reputation as man of gen.
Jus was acknowledged throughout his native
land. His fortune secured, and his name had
already become illustrious. Every where was
his society courted, and his opinions listened TO
with Difference and admiration. There SEEM
ed to be no honors which lie might not hope TO
attain. His ardent spirit, and his growing
! ambition, became only the more insatabe.-
Fiery difficulty had yielded before him; he
| had flown on upon the wings of success-his
life had hitherto been brilliant dream from
which he saw no prospect of immediate ava
kening.
1t was evening and he was alone in her
splendid drawing room. with the loveliest wo-
man in London--thc daughter of a vscount
A hundred lamps, reflected by hundred mir
rors, shone around them. There was to be
magnificent entertainment, but the company
had not yet arrived. Edmund and the lady
Matilda, would not have cared had they new
err arrived at all. They sat near each other,
and talked in low, soft tones of all that youth
and beauty love best 10 talk about. Edmund
had never felt so vain in his life before; for
there were hundreds in the metropolis best
with all the advantages of rank and birth who
would give both their titles and their fortunes
to have secured one of those smiles which the
proud maiden now lavished upon him. And
she-she had read his works, she thought of
his fame, she looked upon his elegant form
and handsome features, and forgot the hum
dred scions of nobility who had offered up
their incense to her shrine. A carriage was
rupted." i have taken q fancy TO that emer.
aid ring of yours said the lady Matilda, will
you exchange it for one OF miner She took
a glittering diamond from her finger, and put
it on Edmund's; and at the same time his en-
crald became one of the ornaments OF the pref
test hands in the world 1t was ring which
Florence had given him, the very morning he
left Woodburn
The two years he was to be away had ex-
pred. Florence said her father to her, one
morning, 81 never saw you look so well, your
cheeks are all roses; my sweet girl; have you
been watching the sun rsel Florence turned
away her head for a moment to brush burn
ing tear from her eye and then answered cheer
fully TO her unsuspecting father, that she had
seen the sun rise? There was not person in
WOODBURY., except her father. who had not OBJ.
served how dreadfully Florence was altered
not in her manners nor habits, nor conversa.
ton; but in her looks. Her check, it is true
was red. but it was the clearness of an inSiGi