The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1852-01-22
Gclcftc0.
From the National Era
Ii Il TIE N Il.
BY MARY IRVING.
[Concludcdl
OH DH LID Ill

BY MARY IRVING

CHAPTER Ill.
There is pleasant manufacturing vii
lage, not many miles from the old mansion
that was Anne KS home. A miniature
river, the merry s., tumbles musically
among the rocks that seem to have been
flung into its channel by some cold man
of the mountains" till it finally cleaves
the ledge, and bounding over crescent
precipice of solid granite almost loses
itself among the boulders and messy rocks
beneath. The banks below are two steep,
solid masses of ragged rock, over whose
edges nod scrub ,aks and wortleberry
bushes. At this day you would be dazzled
by the glare of high red walls above them !;
for the manufacturing interest has planted
its foot firmly there, and the rude water
wheel of a utilitarian age whiz and whirl
in the very arms of the beautiful crescent
cascade. But forty years ago, before Art
had discovered the spot, Nature was there
alone. To be sure, there was a little
" settlement''-a village, if tavern, store
and post-office might be allowed their GUS
omary prerogative of constituting a vii
lage. But the few houses besides were
scattered so widely about, and the. place
was so innocent Of all parade or enterprise
that it scarcely seemed reused from the
simplicity of its primitive woods.
1t was November-the month that
opens most brilliantly on the New England
hills, but, long ere departing, rends its
robe of richness assunder, and scatters it
myriad fragments to the northeastern
winds. The hectic of the forest had
already given place t, the decay it too
surely BODIED. Softly the Indian summer
had whispered to the few, lingering, dying
flowers the hope of n glad waking beneath
a brighter sky, and flown to his prairie
nook in the sheltered "West."
1t was the dismal afternoon of stormy
day; cloud-caps, heavy with mist, hung
gloomily on every ll-top, and the shifting
winds, moaning and whooping through the
valley gorges, drove battalions of watery
specters hithcr and thither at their will.
Damp, chill, and cheerless, the night was
coming en-, hard on the steps of MONDAY.
A ruder blast than usual dashed the honey
suckle vine against the small, square
window of the dingy little post office on
the hill side, and startled the bald headed
postmaster from puzzling over the last
months register. He looked up, peered
out and about, and then thrust his stump
of quill behind his right ear to muse.
81 hope she won't come to-day" he
began, half to himself, half to his help
meet, who sat in the lightest conner of the
office, turning monotonous faxwheel
with her busy foot. -.
81 hope she won't come through all
this driving storm for nothing"
What's that? Who;" asked his
wife, but half comprehending.
"Who but Major k Anne-she that
has come every living day to this counter,
for two months, as rcg'lar as the mail
bag. It's all the same to her, its seems,
rain or shine and I'm afraid it'll be all
the same for many a day, more's the
PITY IT,. H.. -... ......, -. ,,,;u,. :,
replied his wife " it's some trouble that's
wearing upon her heart like, ye may be
sure, John. Bless ye, she come driving
through the storm to-day, and she so pale
and ailing! Ye need't keep looking"
Hush, you it's her own SELF" whis-
pered the old man, depricatingly, as a
hoof-fall struck on his ear and in mo-
ment bay pony, with its rider, dashed
down past the little window, its drenched
name dripping to the grass. :. :,
"Too bad" the good man exclaimed,
starting from his high stool-"fll meet
her at the door, poor thing, that she
needn't light in all this mud"
But before he could hobble halfway to