Litchfield enquirer., 1857-08-06
Whole No. 1884

She might sit by L llian's side and hold her thin hands, which had now grown thinner than hers then she seemed content and we had no heart to forbid her, never did she utter one word of the secret that was between them. She seemed to comprehend that that should re- maiu wrapl el in the mantle of oblivion. Some- times she would unloose the brown tresses of Lillian's hair and for hours sit smoothing them with her hands, ano sometimes she would bring a white camellia or rose bud and fasten it to Llllel'S bosom. If she ever spoke it vas to muttcr of the dark, dark night, but generally she came aud passed like wandering shadow.
 At last Spring came. The blue birds first announced it, then the robins, which came in ttocks while yet the snow banks lay beside the stone walls and the thick frs yet they called loud from the tops of the naked sycamores and hopped and flew over the brown grass of the orchard. One dull rainy morning when there was scarcely snow drift left of the heavy white banks that had been so high that cold w.nter; they went in to hef room to Call hcr-- but she was deeply slumbering, she slept the last sleep that Is known to fnottals Her white cheek rested upon her hand as it ever rested when she slumbered ,and the soul had gone but from its tenement as quietly as the simple ma tton who locketh her door, and with light heart goeth away for a season:
 It was Uncle Erwin who first saw her: He had gone into her room and built her little fire, as Was his wont, every morning: And when she did not wake, he opened the shutter of the window; and the dull gray dawn fell on the cheek of his dead daughter, his darling Lil- Han. They made her grave by the side of her mother--and to-day; the twentieth stiminer that has passed over me since then, l have been out and wept an hour, sitting bn the damp ground of that wind-begirt hill; wherein is her tombstone.
 With Lillian buried my all: had little care for life the hills were all barren, the plains all deserts to me; and l left the country, and for nineteen years watched the waving palms that shadow the stiltry height about Be- japoor:
 1 There were no more deaths iii rincle Erwin's family. Eycty letter received brought me news from them spoke of theft increasing wealth and happincss-the girls were married one by une the boys also. Kitty, the oldest daughter had assumed the position of house. keeper; and filled her mothers place, to my un- cle's entire satisfaction. When 1 feturned, two months since, it seemed as if 1 shoild fihd them all there. l had forgotten the ihroads time and marriage makes upon family circles. l left the cars at Swansburn and wandered along the river bank. Another shch morn- ing as that which made we wretched, hung over the tree-tops. When I reached the gate at the entrance of the atenhe, thought saw uncle Erwin and Lillian coming tip the path, but they were strangers: l met, and we pass ed in silence The same old-fashioned gate let me in: am sure it was the same one that was always there The path, however, was overgrown with grass and that footsteps sell dom passed there; was evident no wagon track was visible, and the limbs of the trees had grown too low for one to pass I could see, however the tall trees in the distance, and the blue smoke curling from among them. The squirrels were as tame as ever, the birds quite as mel0dious. l saw the little schooEhotso among the chestnuts, but the path to it w. choked with weeds, and many of it's windows were broken I walked slowly on until I reached the bridge. Here the old one had been replaced by structure of stone, and it was now tie direct thoroughfare for the teams from the mill. The water still r6ared at the dam, and the slow-revoving wheel still per- formed its duties. Save that the trees had grown thicker about the grounds the hemlocks and frs more dense and gloomy, I could perceive
 little change aiid wondered why did not see the children playing about the premises At the house there were some alerations-the veranddh had been changed and the door which in old times always stood opet, showing tlle/ stiff-back chairs ranged along the hall, wal now closed, as were also the windows The clambcring vine, which in Lillian's day. wan- 1 dered about the caves and tangled itself l among the limbs of the cherry trees, was now stifly trained over an arbor, and full of butclI- es of young grapes and in place of the iron krocker, Q porcelain bell knob obtruded It's cold face by the side of the easement I pulled the knob, which responded with dsagreeabe tiukle from the distant kitchen. A stiff look ing servant opened the door. enqufed for the family, and was shown into the little sit- ting-room, where so many times had sat with uncle Erwin and Lillian. Not change had taken place. There were the same maple chairs, with gilt backs and arms; the same dark carpet, the same bookcase and pictures. and over the mantel, Aunt Anna looking down to welcome me. My heart was full. i saw Lillian saw her sisters, I saw uncle Erwin, and dark before me strode the figure of He- | ry Austin: rose and walked to the library. It was locked. I put my hands upoh the | drawers of the secretary-they too were fast ened. passed to the little cupboard which we were wont to fill with books, pictures ard fruit, or whatever our pockets were relieved from. 1t too was locked A chill ran through me: heard a rustling at the door. A stiff, middIe.aged spinster, bearing the family like ness; stood before me. could not recall her face, and yet she seemed to resemble some O. ,e whom had seen. You do not know mo she commenced I should never have b,pown you, had you not sent in your name. Why William, you are as yellow as the gold yop have collected.' And whom do have the honor of addressing r asked for was an. gry at such allusious, when my heart was SO full of EecollsetiQns of the past, Why, Katae,