The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1845-06-07


found sad pleasure in going away by
herself and broodng over the memorie.
OF the past. Her iavorite spot on sucI
occasions was little arbor in the garden,
and there would she sit for hours gazing
on the miniature of Hereford, the only
memento of him that remained to her.
But where was he2 For more than a
year no tidings had been received Of him
even by his own family, except a hasly
letter dated from Malta, and containing
the intelligence that he was about to set
forth for Egypt and Syria.--For Hereford
sought in travel to drown the bitter re-
membrance Of happy days now gone for>
ever. From Cairo he passed TO Jerusa
lem. and thence over the desert to Bagdad.
Wherever excitement could be found there
was he; and month after month he BRAY
ed the dangers of a Bedouin's wandering
life, hoping to discover that Lethe for
which so many have sought in vain. lie
stood by the ruins Of Babylon, he slaked
his thirst in the broad TIgris, he passed
through many peril, and beheld many
a strange land, but he could not shake
from his mind the thought of Mary.
There are some men who love q dozen
women; there are others OF more earnest
mould who can never worship but one.
Hereford belonged to this latter class
The deep fountains of his heart had been
broken up, and the golden cistcrn there.
alter was never to be at rest.
Atlength he resolved to return to his
native land. Not that he hoped for hap.
mess there; but an indefnablo ycarning
came over him to tread once more It's
soil. Nor did he dream that Mary loved
him still: yet, like fascinated bird, he
longed 10 hear of her, though uncared for,
to be near her, though unseen. With
him TO resolve was 20 execute, and by
the most rapid conveyances he reached
home just as summer was opening.
1t was beautiful day in June, and the
flowers were ont in all their loneliness
and perfume, when led by an irresistible
impulse he rode out into the country,
intending to pass by the country residence
of Mary's father, where together, they
had once spent so many happy days. As
he approached the house his heart bea,
with quick puIsatons, for he recognized
familiar objects on every hand. The
dwelling appeared to be closed, as if the
family had not yet removed to it for the
summer; and alighiing from his saddle,
he tied his horse to paling of the fence,
opened the gate and ontcrcd.-Belnre
him was the broad earring -walk where
he had often caught the first sight of Mary
as she came to welcome him on his visit:
there was the lawn where they had saun-
tered arm i'll arm; and hard by was the
cIump Of thCsnut trees under whose mag.
niiccnt boughs they were wont to seek
shelter i'll the snltry MONDAY. He walked
on, his heart melted by the recollections
these scenes called up, and lisilessIy turn
ed into the garden.
Hereford had arrived from abroad but
the day before, consequently he posses
sed no information respecting Mary. He
had not yenturcd to ask whether she was
married or not. lie did not know, there
fore, that on account OF health she had
proceeded the rest Of ,hc family into the
country, and was now residing here alone,
with the exception of the servants. But
suddenly he came upon little arbor OF
irellice work, which had been u favorite
resort of Mary and himself in other days.
1t was completely sheltered in thick vines
which he was about to put aside in order
to enter, when he was arrested by the
voice o! some one apparently occupying
it. lie drew back, and the voice began
the prelude TO a song. Every tone was
full Of pathos-lke yet unlike those Of
Mary. His Heart beat violently, and he
leaned against tree for support And
now his doubts no longer perpleXod him
for he fully recognized the voice Of Mary
as ill a tone Of melting sadness she sang
these lines Of Moore.
GAS beam on the face ortho waters may glow,
While the tide runs in GOODNESS and darkness be
low;
So the face may be tingod with a warm SUM,
s,ailc,
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the
while.
One fatal remembrance, one sorrow whicl
throws
Its bleak shade alike DER our joys and our woes
To which Life nothing brighter nor darker Cal
bring,
For which Joy hath no balm and affection no
sting"
The voice of the singer trombled as she
proceeded, and became chokcd with tears
as she finished the last line. Hereford
put aside the vine and gazod s'cathily or
her. o! how pale was that sad, swce
face. And could it be, he asked himself
that she had suffered all this for him. She
drew forth miniature from her bosom
at this instant, and gazed earnestly upon
it. From where lie stood the facs was
plainly visible; and his brain grew dizzy
with happiness as he saw it was his own
In that moment all his proud resolutions
faded away, everything was forgotten bu