The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1854-08-03

ardsv and if the replywas yes, she would 90
on WIN, dad one Of our men cut down the
uee = lsne was fond Of saying zoe and osr,)
ana aod, how big was it Mr.. Richards -
ana DID ever zee such q tree p and how
long did it take our man to cut il down p
and similar foolish questions, od minimum.
AT one OF these elegant displays of femi-
nine dependence, during that first memorable
dinner, the widow Wilkinson jumped up, as
though serpent stung her, and, placing her.
self behind the chair Of the maiden lady, sawed
the air sharply with her case-knife, as if she
said, would cut Cd your head, if could y
At another time, thers manifestations
would not have escaped the observation of Er.
Richards; but if aware of them at the time, he
affected ob.iyiousness. Toward sunset, seeing
that MRS Wilkinson proposed remaining
through the night, and fnding no requisition
for my services, ! tapped at the door Of the
| library, whittier Mr.. Richards had retired, to
announce my intention Of returning home OF
course, promised by asking If could be Of
any further use. A dozen volumes lay on tho
chairs, and tho carpet, and the table, bat he
| sogmed to be reading from nore. He vas
obliged, he said, for my kind intentions, but
| bis occesions had already bsen responded to-
Mrs. Williamson, Hho seemed q very efficient
person, would remain for day or two; and
Miss Halstead, who had been called 10 before
little Harry's death, was still about the house,
he belle7ea.
Heavens! cannot Cell ahst felt. 1t was
as if he had put miles, put leagues, between
| u.s. / had been an inmate of his house for
two or three days, and yet he did not recognise
mo. felt the mingling of anger, and shame,
and pride, fash thro1sh my cheek. as, bowling
with sort Of satirical Difference, Withdrew.
Ter ho hoA M ,,,v hcpu nat VT
| in the night, until now-and | might haye
! found other all,scficient excuses for his mat
tention to me--but could only zee the naked
truth, which was certainly ugly enough, and
Notifying enough. The very dog that lay in
my path looked hateful to me, as with aristo-
| cratic assurance he maintained his position. l
did not once turn or look toward the house
it might have sunk into the earth, or burned
up and at the moment 1 should have felt
neither pain nor pleasure in the scene.
"Thcro was path broken along the lane
| which the funeral folks had made, but dis
| dained to tread in it, and made my way right
through the drifted snow. 1t pleased my mood
to srample down whatever opposition | could.
"a thousand contradictory resolves | made
| during that short walk-now sould fall into
| my proper position, and never think OF any
thing but tending the dairy, and comparing
calico dresses with Lucretia wilkinson and
now | ssid was head and shoulders ebJvs
her, and would not ssoop to mate myself with
| her, or the class to which by nature che be-
longed. There were immortal longings in me,
and in some way they should be gratifsd-
when or how did not stop to inquire. l did
not know how hard it is for even Genius to dig
| its slow way from the base to the summit-to
snap asunder all natural ties, defy its own igno-
rance and the opposition Of the thousand
starved but cultivated aspirants that tread it
| down to the last.
alt was almost night when reached home
Nobody was expecting ne, or glad that was
come; apparently even Hetty, whom Martha
had taught, while was gone, not only to milk
q coz, but also to say mother seemed weaned
quite away from me- The child was of q more
piiable clay, end Martha felt, what was true,
That with ne cut Of the way, she could mould
her to her viii
Hetty told rne of her Bew requirements,
adding that mother was going to teash her to
make a quilt out of a thousand piecee, and
asked me if knew how to make such a one.
| said no, and didn't want TO know; and that
if she would try to master her spelling book,
she would do wiser thing. Naturally, was
anxious that all possible educational advanta-
ges should be afforded my poor sister; but
Martha said, in her coarse way, nothing could
ever be made OF her, and my father remained
passive. sat down, without removing bonnet
| or shawl, fer fels as though / had no home,
| there nor elsewhere, and Martha moved about
without noticing me. If her work were out Of
doors, eho remained there insenebIe of the
| cold if it were over q blazing fire, flames
seemed her element. Heat nor Geld, death nor
love, nothing moved her but In the same pas
| sionless way she went about.
at Yves growing dark in the cherries ROOM
when my father and PaISon Goodman came
| in-tke latter to solicit contributions, 10 the
| way of clothes or money, for poor family in
| the neighborhood, and my father to have
| brier, which he had thrust deep in his finger,
| picked out.
Martha gsvs him o great brass pin, which
| she took from her sleeve, and told BIN he could
best extricate the thorn himself She did not
| inquire whether it was the left OR the right
| hand, nor did she see how the oozing blood
| filed oil the aching cavity between the broken
nail and the finger, bat passed from the room
| ia search of some contribution to the Parsons
| budget
"1My good young lady he said, addressing
me, haven't you something for these poor
| people? / had Little to spare, | knew but |
remembered On outgrown dress and q curious
shilling, which had had for long time.
Martha returned with bundle, IS with
drew for my little store. | could find neither
of the articles sought, and was obliged to
say had nothing. Martha, as I alterwayd
learned, had contributed not only the drese, but
the shilling, taking to herself the credit and
leaving me to appear selfish or careless.
| any father was etandipg in the fast-fading
light essayirg his beet to extract the thoin
with the pin. How dainty!' exclaimed Mar
tina, taking the dull instrument, and tearing
the brier from the quivering flesh, as she would
have torn it from the tree on which it grew !;
and the Parson with the bundle, and my father,
| holding the bleeding finger in the other cracked
and toll hardened hand, went out of the houee.
| 81 heard Charley walking to snd fro in his
own room-that is, in the part of the garnet
where his clothes hung On pegs-whers his
| bed was, and where stood an old trunk, con-
tanning few dollars and few books could
not sic quietly-my thoughts were all pertur-
bation-and with q step unsteady and hurried,
went out into the air.
mir. Goodman was in his carriage, about
driving away, and my father was just handing
! in a bag of oats or potatoes, or corn, | don't
know which, but heard the Psrecn say to
him, Il can take it full, Mr.. Hslstead' The
parsonage was half mile away in the vicinity
| Of the grocery, the tavern, and the post ofice.
| OF pleasant evenings, it was my custom to
| walk there, though in expectancy OF nothing
| more than the weekly paper. 1t occurred to
me then, to ride thither with the Parson and
! to walk home, but MIR. Goodman set OF as o
brisk trot before was near enough to arrest
| his attention.
al was not disposed to be bafled, however,
and wrapping nv shawl about me, walked for
ward AZ would have walked on the May grass.
| It was quite dark when reached the ofiice-i
| la &C.,, v,okb;nr excapt nv shadow In the