The Union and eastern journal. [volume] (Biddeford [Me.]) 1854-1858, 1857-02-06

peoplsd dream-land with her image. W
wrote to each other; and when went HON
: at my vacation found her grown MOI
lovely, but was conscious Of q change i
her manner to Inc. In her letters she woul
recall old scenes and bring up old associa
tions, but when in actual presence sho woul
avoid all renewal of them. III wanted Il
walk, she was sure to be in an industriou'
mood If I proposed private and confden
tial conversation, there was sure to be al
interesting passage in some book which
must read to her. She was ever ready will
an excuse, some device TO prevent renswa
of our old familiar intercourse. With my
father and mother she was the same mis-
chicvous, playful child but with me sh'
was suddenly transformed into the grave
digni6cd woman. Her manner puzzled, an
noyed, and distressed me.
1t was the day before I Was to start fol
Europe, where must stay for two years
had tried in vain to find an opportunity to
tell Lily Of my feelings toward her. With
the utmost freedom, rs had been accustom-
cd to do from o child, told my mother
everything. It was my frst real sorrow.
Even now feel the pressure other soft hand
smoothing my cheek as she tried to comfort
me. II would be different. Lily was shy |;
had grown 20 tall, and she had lost my
identity with the Willie Of former years.
She ADVISED me to seek an explanation. As
l lett her room I met Lily crossing the hall.
went up to her, and said, in a playful way,
Come, Lily, want you to 50 to walk
with me this last evening. We will awaken
host Of rccollections by stroll in the
grove. Now 90 get your bonnet, and come
on"
"Indeed, Willie, l cannot 80 this evening.
I am sorry to deny you, but I must finish
this piece Of work." -
lives provoked, and said almost angrily'
"Lily, you are capricious, and almost bo-
lieve, cold hearted never did sec any body
so changed"
She looked at me in astonishment. The
crimson tide rushed over her neck and face
until the very roots Of her hair seemed set
in blood. ut is you who are changed,
she said, I" You are suspicious Of me. You
will not be my brother Willie any more
And 1 am to be tormcnted from years end
to years end because l cannot She
stopped, and hid her face in her hands, the
flush upon her cheek deepening moro in
shame than anger. drow nearer to her
but before could touch her she had flown
up the wide stair case, and heard her door
slam. Tho mystery was to me solved she
loved me only as brother, had fathomed
my wishes, and wished to avoid giving me
pain. started of with a heavy heart
Ny disappointment was bitter one; but
in my heart had to acknowledge that she
had acted rightly.
From Paris wrote to her, telling her
that appreciated her motives. l never re-
csived an answer to my letter indeed she
never got it.
1t was far from my intention, dear reader,
to make thisa lovo-story; and, after all,
this is but to act as the introduction to the
one grand event have promised to tell you
of. Neither is it my intention to give an
account Of my travels in Europe; what l
saw there other travellers have seen, and
put down in books. My heart was not in
them. My two years were spent in wild
longings to get home. l had not been ablo
to shake of or change the feelings had for
Lily. In spite of my most desperate efforts
I had to acknowledge that | was still hoping
on. l tried to improve myselfin everything,
and did improve; it was oil in the hope that
her sisterly affection had worn out in my
absence and would give place to another
and tenderer feeling. She was the nucleus
around which oil my feelings clustered; in
her all my thoughts centred l mingled in
society, but the dark-eyed daughters ofItaly,
and the sparkling vivacity Of the French
women, only brought them into comparison
with the infantine loveliness and infection
mirth Of the companion Of fmy boyhood, and
turned from them in utter dissatisfaction
at the contrast.
Well, those two years flew by on leaden
wings; but they passed at last, and glad
ly returned home. waited day in New
York, that my letter announcing my arrival
might be before me.
1t was sweet, bright day in early May
that drew near to my fathers house. The
carriage had been sent some miles. to meet
me, and old Juba was winning my thanks
and praises by his efforts to hurry me on my
journey as much as it was possible. Every.
thing seemed to have been done with refer
ence to my return; everywhere recognized
the hand Of affection, and even Nature,
self seemed to join in the general joy-the
green grass, the smiling flowers, and the
joyous note Of the birds, all seemed to vel.
come me home. Oh, the magic ofthe word
Ny heart seemed to bound within me, and ]
could not restrain my disposition to lea r
from the carriage and return tho greeting,
of my ebony friends with as much hcartines
as they were given. Then came the silen,
embrace Of my father, speaking moro than
volumes Of words, and the fearful tenderness
Of my mother, rs she thanked God for bring
ing me safe home. All this was happines
indeed, but ] looked beyond. Behind my
mother stood Lily, looking lovelicr thar
ever, in her dress ofsky blue, falling in such
, graceful folds around her slight but beauti
fully rounded figure. Her cheek was Lit.
tie palcr than when I leh, but there was q
light in her eye that made my heart bound.
IT'S true, she was dignifcd still /; but ther'