The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1851-03-20
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From Chambers Edin6urg journal.
The Conflict Og Love- & 'A:sE 4
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IN lllE HOttii ti idhNCf hCdA N44C DN4-
Uian frontier, Is situated small, obscure
Jown. It's surrounded BY high torIitica
lions. which seem ready TO crush the
mean houses IN the centre. lnCi0sed So
70 speak, in a network OF walls, the poor
little town has never sent suburb TO
wander on the smooth green turf outside;
but as the population increased, new
streets sprang up within the boundary,
crowding the already narrow space, and
giving to the whole the aspect OF some
huge prison.
The climate of the north of France du-
ring half the year is usually damp and
gloomy. | shall never forget the sensa-
lion of sadness which felt when obliged
by circumstances to leave the gay, sunny
south, and take up my abode Tor a while
in the town | have described. Every day
| walked out; and in order 10 reach the
nearest gate, had TO pass through mar
row lane, so very steep, that steps were
cut across il in order TO render the ascent
less difficult. Trayerslng this dlsagreea-
Bile alley, it happened one day that my
eyes rested on mean-lookIng, gray y-coior-
ed house, which stood detached from the
others. Seldom, indeed, could ray OF
sunshine light up its small, green Paned
windows, and penetrate the interior OF lis
gloomy apartments. During the winter
the frozen snow on the steps made II SO
dangerous to pass through the narrow al
ley, that its slippery pavement seemed
quite deserted. | do not remember 10
have me! single person there III the
course of my daily walk; and my eye used
90 rest with compassion on the silent gray
house. Il hope" thought |, ''lhat is ln-
habitants are old-it would be fearful 10
be young there!' Spring came; and M
the narrow lane the ice changed into mOls-
ture; then the damp gradually dried up,
and few blades OF grass began to appear
beneath the rampant wall. Eyea in this
gloomy passage there were tokens OF
awakening life, but the gray house remain
ed silent and sad as before. Passing by
1t, as usual, in the beginning Of June,
remarked, placed on the wIndow-silI OF the
open easement, a glass containing bunch
OF violeiS. "Ah," thought /, There is d
soul here,'
TO love flowers, one must either be
young, or have preserved the memories of
youth. The enjoyment of their perfume
among the poor a Struggle between the
necessities of the body and the instincts of
the soul. looked al the vioets with a
feeling of sadness, thinking that. they prob.
ably formed the single solace CT some
weary life. The next day | returned.
Even in that gloomy place the sweet re-
Joiclng tace OF summer had appeared. and
dissipated the chill silence of the air.
Birds were twitterlng, insects humming,
and one of the windows IN the old gray
house was wide open.
Seated near ii was woman working
buslly with her needle. Ii would be dliii-
cult 10 tell her age, tor the pallor and sad
ness Of her counlenance might have been
caused as much by sorrow as by years,
and her cheeks was shadowed By a prolu
sion of rich dark hair She was thin, and
her fingers were long and white. She
wore a simple brown dress, black aporn
and white collar; aud | remarked the
sweet, though faded bunch of violeis care
fully placed within the folds of her ker.
chief. Her eyes met mine, and she gent
ly inclined her head. | then saw more
distinctly that she had Just reached the
limit which separates youth from mature
age. She had suffered, but probably with
oct struggle, without a murmur-per-
haps without tear. Her countenance
was calm and resigned, but il was the still
ness of death. | iancied she was like a
dropping flower, which, without being
broken, bends noiselessly toward the earth.
Every day | saw her in the same place,
and, without speaking, we exchanged a
salutation. On Sundays | missed her.
and concluded that she walked into The
country, for each Monday fresh bunch of
violets appeared in the window. | con-
occurred that she was poor, working at
embroidery for her support; and | discov-
cred that she was not alone in the house,
tor one day somewhat impatient voice
called "Ursula!" and she rose hastily.
The tone was not that OF master. neither
did she obey the summons after the man
ner of servant, but with an expression of
heartfelt readiness. yet the voice breathed
no affection; ard l thought that Ursula
Perchance was not loved by those with
whom she lived.
Time passed on, and our silent intima-
cy increased. At length each day gath
cred some fresh flowers, and placed them
on the window-sill. Ursula blushed, and
i9ok them with gentle, grateful smile.
clustering in her girdle, and arranged with