The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1852-10-02
SATURDAY MORNING OCTOBER 2 1852

Mr.. Mayhew months before, and we knew that
she and little Florence were coming 10 make our
hearts glad with their presence; but we did not
know that consumption had laid his ha md upon
her. We little thought to see her thus, and it
was hard to still our murmuring hearts and
meekly submit to the will of "Him who doeth
all things WE'LL"
But for ten long years we have not once men,
toned Henry Lyons, the hero ofour little sketch;
and yet, he is neither dead nor married; but at
the time of Flora's return, was still an inhab-
liant of our little village, where he had remain
ed during the long years of her absence, visit
ing the sick and the afflicted and administering
calomel or consolation, as the case seemed to
require. All had, with one consent, set him
down for an Old Bachelor, long ere she came
back. We girls, had ceased to set our caps for
him, and our mammas no longer fretted about
the fewness of his patients or the littleness o!
his prospects. Some there were, who thought
him selfish, penurious, and cold hearted, and
hater, or at least a dslker of womankind; but
we who knew of his love for Flora, judged him
less harshly. And when we heard that the rich
young widow-for Mr.. Mayhem had left to her
the whole of his vast property-was coming
back 10 US, who can wonder that our hayward
iancies built many "lairy CASTLE"
A few weeks before Flora's return, DR.. Lyons
was in at our house. Oh! how did long to
tell him that Florence-his Florence was COM
ing back once more. We were standing upon
the porch and as he was about leaving said:
CDR, have you heard the news!'
"What news?" he asked with an air OF in
difference.
"Why, that Mrs Mayhem, Florence, our
Florence is coming back once more 10 reside
with her aunt"
He looked eagerly-earnestly within my face
for an instant-then painful memory seemed
to come over him, and hitter smile was upon
his lips as he answered coldly:
"No, had not heard it," and bidding me
"Good Night" he passed rapidly down the
wslk.
1t was six weeks after the return of Fl orence,
late in the month of November, but Oh what
a beautiful day il was! The wind soft and
warm as the breath of summer, rustlcd the
snow-drops, kissed the dead and dying flowers
of autumn, and occasionally sent brown and
yellow leaf, futtcrng to the pavement below,
which, until then, had trembinsly chung to the
almost deserted tree. We had felt for some
weeks that Flora was failing rapidly, but this
day she seemed more feeble than ever before.
had been reading to her greater part of the
day from favorite author. Little Florence
had nestled close beside her mother the whole
day long, scarcely leaving her for a moment.
1t was almost night, and the golden sunshine,
as 1t stole in through the half closed shutter,
fell upon her tiny form, as reclining against her
mothers lounge and resting her little dmped
cheek upon one thin, transparent hand, she
slept arose softly, and was about to lift and
place her in warm and comfortable place, but
Florence observing me whispered:
"Nay, leave her thus; l would watch her
sweet slumber once more; and Ellen" she con-
tlnued, "send for Henry Lyons; bid him come 10
me, l would see him ere the sun go down."
started at the mention of his name, so un-
expected-and my hear: sunk within me as
heard 81 would see him ere the sun go down."
In very few moments had despatched to him
a note bearing these words.
difference is dying and would see you--de-
lay not-but come quickly. ELLEN"
had not long TO wait. A few moments, and
he opened the little gate and come up the walk
with hurried, unsteady step. led him to her
in silence and was turning to leave the room,
when look from Florence detained me. Hen
ry advanced to where she lay, and gazed upon
her for a moment. Neither spoke. To look
upon her thus was more than he could bear, and
kneeling hes ide her, he buried his face in the
sofa cushions, while his strong frame shook
with the deep emotion-the bitter an guish OF
his bosom.
stole away to weep. Hours later, when
returned to the room, found Henry still kneel-
ing, his lace bowed upon the thin white hand
which had so lately pillowed the hand of the
SlctptuS CHlius WIN was Ho" uiuS' o"onS uuu
weeping bitterly. The aunt of Florence stood
upon the opposite side of the couch and as she
bent above the lileless form of the lovely sleep
er, her tears fell in quick succession upon the
marble brow, and gittered like tiny gems
among the dark locks of our beautiful Florence
ours no longer.
-Years have passed since the grass
greened above the grave Of Florence Edgerton.
But Henry Lyons still lives; a Bachelor, yet
beloved by many as the sole guardian of Flor
ence, the young heiress, who, its said, grows
more lovely each day.
MONUMENT TO Mr.. CLAY.-Nathan
Sargent publishes in the National In
tellgencer, dated August 81, letter
signed by number of our most distin-
guished men, proposing to form an asso-