The Literary echo, and Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1851-1854, 1854-05-04
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[From the American Uuion.
ZE IA LIE e;
"REMINISCENCES OF A TEACHER
BY MISS SARAH NJ. HOWE.

", memory! now from the full store
house of the invisible, invisible Past
dost thou bring up to the inner eye Of
the soul, the loved and loving of the
days gone by-the earnest blue eyes,
the sunny ringlets, the cheeks and lips
of the hue in the heart of the damask
rose, and the pale, high brows of the
young and beautiful, whom we have
known in the olden time, but who have
long ago passed before US to the Silent
Land !! They are gone forever from
our mortal vision--gone like the pure
white lily that folds its snowy leaves
upon its heart, and sinks down beneath
the deep blue of its native wave to
escape the chilling blast of the winter
king and thus, like the pure lily, and
the blushing rose, they are gone, faded,
and passed away before the chilling blasts
of fortune, to the home prepared for
them by the Father-and there in the
Angel Land, they dwell-the young,
and lovely, and beautiful
"Ah, well do remember the quiet,
lovely village Of Lilydale, where my
third summer, as a teacher, was passed.
The neat white cottages were almost
hidden by the tall old elms, the magnifi-
cent poplars, and the broad, interlacing
naples, waving their giant arms, with a
mournful sound, like the zephyr sighing
for the sunny home of tropic isles. Aud
the Lilydale school l-house-it was very
pretty, neat-looking building, situated
at the outskirts of the village, with green
blinds, and small, tastefully ornamented
windows, curtained inside with plain
white cambric. knew should enjoy
teaching there nobody could help doing
50.
How we'll I remember the first morn
ing in that neat, rural spot. I entered
the school-house precisely at the moment
the " minute hand" of my watch pointed
to the hour of nine-and with beating
heart laid my satchel on the desk, took
off my bonnet and gloves, and glanced
around the school-room, to tho rows of
little faces upturned to mo. There were
many bright and interesting faces there !;
many whom my heart was instinctively
drawn to, as if by magnetic force, and
whom I felt l already loved but there
was one, a girl of not more than fifteen
years at the most, whose face rivited my
eyes to her in a gaze that l know she
must have though ht was intended to look
her out of countenance possible. But
l could scarcely draw my eyes away
from her, and when l did, would find
them wandering back involuntarily, until
| was astonished at my own rudeness.
The child was not beautiful or rather,
would not have seemed SO to the com
mon Observers eye; but in my eyes she
was strangely fascinating. Her face
was exceedingly pale, and almost mes-
gerly thin; her complex on dark and
sallow, all but her forehead, which was
as white as the lily cup that rested on
the bench beside her. Her eyes we're
black, blacker than | have ever seen
before or since, but SO wildly, unearthly
brilliant, that they seemed almost like
living, glowing fire They were very
large, and fuller than those of most
ceildren; but their flashing b,illiancy
told of something within, that would be
yet Of uncommon power. How those
eyes iaciuatcd NE ! can never forget
them, or their owner And the white
brow above them was indelibly and un-
mistabably stamped with the same power
that shonc forth from the flashing eyes
intellect. Her black hair, which display
ed slight inclination to curl, was crop
ped short in her neck, and was combed
straight back, though not very smoothly,
behind her ears. Her lips were very
red-strangely in contrast to her pale
face and white brow-while their firm,