Weekly Trinity journal., 1857-09-19

A Frcsher Fern Lcnf than Usual.

! IN THE DuMrs.-What does all me- I'm as
blue as indigo. Last night was as gay as a
bob o-link-pcrhaps that is the reason. Good
gracious, hear that wind howl Now low-now
high-till it fairly shrieks; it eXctes me like the
panied cry of human There's my pretty Cali.
fornia flowcr-blue as a baby's eyes oil shut up
no wonder | wish my eyes were shut up too
What does ail me think it is that dose Of n
Boston paper that l have just been reading (for
want of something better TO do,) whose book crit
ic calls Jane Eyre" an immoral book Dun
key! 1t is vain to hope that has life has been IA
pure and selfsacritcing as that of Charlotte
Bronte There's the brenklast-bell, and there's
Tom with the autumn-leaf colored vest on, that
hate so. Why don't men wear pretty vests =
why can't they leave Off those dctestable still
collars, stocks and things, that make them look
like chokcd chickens and which hides so many
handsomely turned throats, that body never
sees, unless a body is married, or unless body
happens to see a body brothers while they are
shaving. Talk Of woman's throats-you ought
to have seen a whiskcred throat that saw once.
Gracious how blue am! Do you suppose it is
the weather? ! wish the sun would shine out and
try ME. See the inchworms on that tree. That's
because II is u pet of mine. Everything l like
goes Just that way. If have nice easy dress
that | can sneeze in it is sure to wear out and
leave me to the crucifying alternative Of squeez-
ing myself into one that is not broken to my fin
ger, | hate new gowns---I hate new shoes--l
hate new bonuets-l hate anything new except
newspapers, and was born-rending them.
There's lame ,boy--now why couldn't that
boy have been straight There's a rooster driv-
ing round hurcm of hens what do the foolish
things run for? If they didn't run, he couldn't
chase them--of course not. Now it is beginning
to r0in every drop periorates my heart. could
cry tears enough to load ship. Why need 1t
rain -patter- -patter-slcs rs dull as lead
trees nesting up to each other in shivering sym
pathy; and that old cow hate cows--thcy al
ways make II dive at me--1 suppose it is because
they are fciralos; chat old cow stands stock still
looking at the pump handle. Just where, and as
she did when | went TO bed last night. DO you
suppose that cows tail ever gets tired lashing
dics from her side; do you suppose her jaws ever
ache with that eternal munching?
If there is any place like. it is n barn; mean
TO go Journey this summer not to see Niagara,
but to see a barn. Oh the visions I've had on
haymows OH the tears I've shed there--oh, the
golden sunlight that has strcnmcd down on me
through the chinks in the raiterod roof--oh, the
cheerful swallow twittcring on the old cross
beams-oh the cunning brown mice scampcrng
over the hoor-oh, the noble bay horse with his
flowing manc aud archng neck, and satin sides,
aud great human eyes. Strong rs Achlles-gen-
tie as a woman. Pshaw women were never half
so gentle to me. lie never rcpulsed me when
laid my head against his neck for sympathy
Brute forsooth | wish there were more such
brutes. Poor Ilunter-he's dead, of course be-
cause loved him;-the trunkmaksr only knows
what has become OF his hide and my books
What is that hundred years hence, and who'll
care don't think | love anythng-or care
for anything to day. ] don't think shall ever
have any feeling again for anybody or anything
Why don't somebody turn TINT old rusty weather
cock or play me triumphal march, Or bring me
q new gemmed dasyy
There's a funeral--a clRd'S funeral Oh
what wretch | am Come hereyou whom
love--you who love me closor-closer-- let mo
twne my arms about You, and God forgive me
for shutting my eyes to this sunshine.