The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1851-09-04

Again, he felt the cold, unfriendly glances Of
the worldly-wise, ambitious mother who, sudden
| ly discovering that her daughter was worthy OF
better things than to become the wife Of a simple
marble-cutter, and the inexpressible agony with
which he sought TO shut his heart against the con-
viction that the maiden herself inclined 10 her
mothers views-that there was more Of pity FOR
him-more Of remorse for the misery which she
knew must follow, for Rose Golding weak as she
was, in some degree realized what she was to him
in the ftful, hayward tenderness which began TO
mark her manner toward him, than the old full,
| conhding love. He struggled with II as the strong
man struggles with death and yet there came
time when her own trembling lips, catching their
courage from her mother confirmed it, and-but
why should we speak Of that hour2 Have we not
said that she died the widow Of John Dalrym-
pie ? And so, with his white cheek resting on the
! little slab Of marble the old man plunged into
the dark days that followed-not wholly dark, for
! his old mother like a pale sunbeam in winter,
! lighted his solitary home by her love followed
him with her silent unobtrusive sympathy, or ex
ercised that wise orbearance 30 necessary 10 such
a condition Of mind as his, and, alas 80 rarely
found. He remembered how, with the SHOWS Of
age upon his heart but not upon his head, he bad
suddenly become companion eor her--sitting by
her through the long winter evenings, and listen
ing, with quiet kind Of interest TO her garrulous
|
ness by her trembling tones as she sung
Death cannot make our souls afraid
| II God be with ms there
At length thar song ceased-to be caught up to an
angelic accompaniment in heaven-and he Was
alone.
Slowly, but not less surely, the years, and an
occasional glance in his mothers little mirror,
told him that he was getting old and gray. But
II did not tell him that the village gossips said 80
also-that they spake Of him as old Gervaise
| Wylverton, and wondered what he meant by liv-
| ing so ell alone by himself-that il didn't seem
right-that he ought TO get married, and have
somebody to look af,er him in his old age--that
he hadn't made half 80 smart a man as they
thought he would, &c, &c.
No-he had no knowledge Of this but he
thought Of the sick chambers where he watched,
when the pestile4ce Ees abroad in the village,
ana lear palsled 'Sike the strong man and the
ohild-of the many parched lips that had mur-
INJURED blessings upon him and pleasantly after
them came troops Of little children from the
school-house below, racing up the green ascent to
his dwelling, at noon-time to build houses and
churches with the hits of stone lying about--lay-
ing out interminable roads and gardens in the
marble dust, and planting them with flowers that
withered erethey had half conned their afternoon
tasks, thus, even in pasime, anticipating the game
| Of life or playing hide-and-seek from behind
the old weather. beaten slabs Of freestone that
leaned against the front Of the shop half buried
with mulens and burdoek-stones that had stood
there for years for Gervsises father had followed
the same occupation, and promptly supplied the
hearthstone for the bride or the headstone for the
tomb, as occasion required. Some Of them were
gravestOnes which had never been put TO their
legitimate use, owing, perhaps, to some flaw in
them, or some difference between the workmen
aud those who ordered them--for people can differ
about gravestones--and among them there was
one old and moss-g grown, for which Gervaise SEEM
ed to entertain sort Of reverence. IL bore a
name unknown in our town records-EdwaFd
Hckox-tha Of young stranger, who in the
hey day Of youth, had parted from his afhanced
bride to spend week with friend in our viii
lage, and had been accidentally shot by that same
| friend, with her kiss still warm upon his lips
| Though buried here, his bones had finally been
removed to his native place; but Gervaise Wyl-
verton, child as be was at the time, remembered
the sad event well, and often recalled, in after
years, the low smothered groans Of the fair.hair-
ed maiden who had accompanied the stricken pa
rents 10 the funeral, and though, for aught he
knew, she might have been for many years a con-
tented wife and mother, yet, perchsnce, 1t was
sympathy with this, her first great sorrow, which
would run through her life like an invisible
thread, drawing her thoughts upward from earth
, that led him TO touch and retOuch again the
half-defaoed letters on that old slab or it might
have heen desire TO keep fair and fresh the re.
cord of one whom love and faith the grave had
rendered sure