Litchfield enquirer., 1848-02-17
From the Ladies Wreath for February. THE CLOUDED NEW YEAR.
BY PROFESSOR ARDEN.

tear, as she returned the careSs ot her danSh- ter, was the only reply made by that moth er
 Mary soon made arrangements for their morning meal, and when it was over, and the blessing of God had been sought, sat down to her sewing, while her mother, too feeble to labor, half recined in her easy chair.
 q wish said she, that my daughter would lay aside her work, aRd go out and take the fresh air. The sun shines brightly-and it cannot be very cold.'
 q am very we'll, mother,' replied Mary.
 Tt is necessary that this piece of work should be done to-day. Pe!haps l shall finish it in time to take short walk before nightfall.'
 sWill any one call here to>day P
 I think not. The ladies of the village are adopting the practice of remaining at home, and receiving calls, and gentlemen will not be likely to find their way here'
 1t was not always SOL
 sIt is no matter.'
 This last remark of Mary was made with a smile so sweet that even the wan lips of her mother could not refuse to respond to it.
 Mary piled her needle, while her mother closed her eyes and thought of the past A few years before, and her husband was liv> ing, and they were possessed of all that was necessary to their comfort. A tasteful dwelling, and fertile farm, affection. health con,entment, the means and disposition 70 relieve the suffering, were theirs Death came and took the husband and father to his rest. Then came the legal spoiler stranger laid claim to the homestead: the ministers of the law decided in his favor. The widow and her daughter were con- strained to take up their abode Tn a very humble dwelling, and to supply their wants by the labor of their hands. Previous to her fathers death, Mary had enjoyed the best advantages for the prosecution ofstudy' which was her delight: but when their ca lamity came. she laid aside her books witil- out a murmur. and engaged in daily anu al" most incesSant toil.
 Mrs. A. soon became unconscious Of the sorrow which review of the sad past ava kened. She fell into a gentle slumber.- Mary paused from her work, for a moment, and gazed upon the pale face of the sieeper' once SO fresh with health, so radiant with affection. A tear dimmed her eye, as she marked the change which had passed upon her, and thought of the greater change which so soon awaited her. To what would her heart cling, when that wasted form should be laid at rest in the marrow house :! Her labors and anxieties might be less, but what are they, to loneliness of heal'? Mrs. A. awoke. Her eyes mel 'hose or her daughter, who was slightly embarrass' ed as she resumed her work
 My poor Mary. what will you do wheH am gone ? I know l am but burden to you but ...r. 'Mother, I entleat you moi to speak agH'n of being burden. had rather you would charge me with being ungrateful.' q know that your heart never regards any thing as a hardship which it does Tor | those you love. My dear, shall, truNt' sooa ae with your father; you will bc leit to pursue your pilgrimage alone Again she closed her eyes, and was silent, while few tears coursed down her hollow cheeks.
 T need a stronger faith said she.
 have tried to commit you to the Lord, and
 to feel sure that you will be provided for. It
 must be that our present trials shall worg
 together for good, but Ineed faith. ! Mary laid aside her work, aud kneeling beside her mothers chair, offered prayer for faith-a prayer which oreathed conh~ dence into the mothers heart.
 The morning wore away. Numbers were
 seen passing who had been accustomed to
 visit them in other days. No knock was
 heard a their humble door-no voice wlSh
 ed the widow and her daughter, happy
 new year. .. Darkness at length came' and ~''h u a I furions storm. The mother early fe'''e' : to her couch. 'Mary, dear, do not S'' 'P V late tonight Iam not sleeply, mother: will re'''' n as soon as am sleepy e Will the thoughts and fears that ar' ' ,hrorgipg her raind permit her soon to oe e .leenlyt The needle is ever moving S,Se e ub.n for a moment. her long delicate fingers ,. were pressed upon the eye, as if to resi-. ''" st ,h. ,.ar which claimed leave to flow. Ne v;l,.ge clock struck twelve. She iait ny = her work, and seated herself before the fe- n .v;ry embers. Now she gazes steadsiy ' 2 s's mon them, and now she presses her cy ' h with her hand. Poor lone one! The ea'y T heart which beats for thee, will soon h' Ia ! .,;,lad f.nr ever. Thou hast no brother [