Litchfield enquirer., 1848-02-17


 She is child agaiO. She is running 'o nee, her father who is returning from the s,..A a, the close of day. They siI wiia the 6appv mother at the table, where the voices f affection make sweetest music.
 The scene changes. She is busy at her studies, She is called to receive the adieu of eue who had been her assistant and guide' who was taking his departure for for; sieu land. He fingers al the door, and ut> .ers a few words which produce strange An,tering at her hearL She stands and watches his receding form as be walks 1own in. avenue of elms The vision was ended ey the faint call of her mother, Ma rv, am faint: ralse me- Mary did so, and aoplied water to herlips. I have strange feeling hers.' said Mrs. A. laying her hand npop her heart. Mary could not speak. She uerceived that death was near. will he down again,' whispered the sufferer but the attempt increased the oppressive feeling My dear. I am dying.' said she Tier head fell back, and she ceased to breathe Mary felt her pulse, l, had ceased it's play Shs laid her hand upon her heart-it was stilled.
 Amid the bowling of the storm the lone orphan watched with the dead, sheoc'ns no tear. stunned, overwhelmed, but conscious
 The morning at length came. A pauper was seen from the window. She was ca'' ed in, and she and Mary laid out the dead
 Again Mary was left alone, and tears came to her relief.
 When the news of Mrs. Anable>'s de. cease, and the sad circums' stances connected with it, were spread through the village va> rious emotions of pity, se!f>reProach, and indignation were awakened Some has'ea- ed to tender cordial sympathy and ass'sl> ance to the orphan mourner Some won- aered they had not heard ot the sickness of ,he deceased, and attempted to excuse them selves by blaming Mary for not calling for their aid. Some few, who, in other days had shared largely in the bounty or the "e> n. .,ed one. who were too poor to render any return, and who deemed it presumption 10 offer the personal services, were bitter m their deuunciations of those who had look> ed m ;o the Anables when in wealth, and neg ec.ed them in their hour of need
 we sce,' said one of another class, 'a- bout how much religion is worth; there was Anable, who was really an honest man and lived up to his profession lie kept giving away his property, lending it to the Lord, as he said, and we see what has c,me of it. His daughter has had to slave | for living, and his wife died with none to watch with her.
 If had been known that they were in want said his neig ghbor, we shouldn't nave let them suffer-
 I guess it was pretty well known, sad the scorner. 'or would have been. it the brethren had not been afraid of being call cd upon for assistance.'
 The preparations for the funera! were made. There were no relauves to be sent fer. t.ll were many miles distant. The prayer was offered, the word of exhortation spoken. and lle procession was formed Mary was the sole mourner Could she follow that cotfn alone Oh for one to walk with her-for one arn, to lean upon Never did she SO thoroughly feel that she was alone in the world, as when the coffin was bor ne from the house, and she began | 10 follow it alone to the grave. She had not proceeded far with to'tering steps, when a carriage was seen coming rapidly after the procession. There was something in this which jared on the feelings of ,he more refined. and they dreaded it's effect on Mary, Should that carriage thus pass them. There was no nsed, however, of effort on their part to prevent it. IL drew up as it approached the procession, and genlle> man aligh'cd. lie went to the side of Ma ", and simply pronounced her name. She took his arm, and they walked together to the grave.
 Who was the stranger2 !. was he with whom her thoughts were busy, when the faint voice of her dying mother disturbed her vision Francis Newton had long heea absent, but he had not forgotten one to whom he had given his young affections, though it was secret unsupported even by her. He had just landed, and having greeted his mother, and his own sisters, was hastening to the dwelling place of one who was dearer to him still As he ap> preached the village, he heared of the trials which had hefallen her, and of the sad .e> vent which was that day to take place He hasteaed onward, and was just in time to go with her to the grave.
 Thence they returned to the desolate dwelling. For season there was weeping there, and the communion of hear, without words. Mary said he at length, you mast return with me to my home. My sis.