Mineral Point tribune. [volume] (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1854-1858, 1857-08-25
ANNIE GRAY
A BEAUTIFUL SKETCH.

ravne spreads into a valley, not very
WIDE watered by a stream that dashed
wildly over the rocks a little further up.
/ The broad, low cottage of the Widow
Gray. Gas | will call her, by your leave,
although | need not say | use fictitious
name. J was concealed from view in the
day time by a dense mass of trees and
/ shrubbery, except on one side, where the
/ lawn was sloped down to the bank of the
creek. Here were usually moored two
or three little skiffs, which might easily
be forced up the rapids quite into the
mountain gorge, and which were often
! seen bearing Annie and her brother
down the current, returning from some
! expedition on the hills.
Had you passed along the road which
crossed the mouth of the ravIne below
! the cottage, you would hot have suspected
+ that house was above you IN the thicket
unless it had been in the evening, and
/ you saw the CLEAN of light, and paused,
/ as | often paused, to let your horse drink
/ at the edge of the broad creek and then,
( perhaps, you might have heard song
4 floating out of the dark wood and if you
rode on till midnight, it would llnger in
/ your ears, and you would fancy you
heard a spirit.
/ That man must have hard heart that
/ did not love Annie Gray. She was the
/ lmpers0ua,jon of loneliness. | never
could describe face or form, do not
remember friends by their features, and
| have the remotest idea OF the color of
I their eyes or hair, in nine cases out Of
ten. But | do remember her with dis
/ tinct memory. She was tall that IS, Ta-
( ther above the medium height, and slen
/ der, but gracefully and beautifully shaped.
I Every motion was natural and unaffected,
( and her footstep was as light as her
heart, and that had not a heaylnesS.-
Sweet Annie Gray! The music Of her
laughter rings from out the lonesome
( years like the meloiious carol Of a bird IN
( the arches of a ruined temple! Her eye
was lark, quick as sunshine in It's chan
4 ges, and full of unspoken poetry. You
might read all manner of beautiful fan
cies and holy thoughts there. Bat | lin
+ ger too long on this description Of her
I Her brother was a fine fellow, a year or
( TWO older than she. aud one of the mer-
. riest boys in the country. He loved his
! sister, too, as have before remarked ),
love has a rejecting force which marks
the lovely.
1 | am completely lost in a whirlwind Of
memories, now that | return TO those days
= and scenes. There were thousand IN
( cidents of my early life that are bro't vi
wildly before me the moment | recall the
/ old cottage ir the glen and It's beloved in
mates. How startling does the trite re-
mark, that we live in a changing world,
recur to our thoughts every day. In fact,
it cannot become trite.
The very stars that we worship as
/ changeless, sometimes fall, and the eyes
that we worship with more of devotion
than the stars. grow dim, and the hearts
we fancy are immutable, change mourn
fully. There Is nothing immutable but
God. II is the attribute of Deity which
includes all others, and to which mortals
DO homage because they cannot compre-
hend it.
A score of years has removed the cot
tage from the earth, and its inhabitants
! have separated here-have met again up
yonder! One by one, their lips murmur-
ing hymns and prayers, and their white
hands folded together. the friends of my
younger days have passed away, and but
few remain Of all that company.
Annie Gray died thus One glorious
summer evening, when the moon was in
its full, she and Ned had been strolhng
up the mountain side, and coming down
together, had nearly reached their boat
as twilight gathered around them. 10th
to return from the forest, she bade Ned
push the little skiff almost under the fall {;
and standing on a rock IN the very middle
of the water. she shook her tiny fist at
the cataract, and held a mock conversa-
ten with it.
Returning from a days shooting on the
mountains, | saw her on the pedestal be-
fore | was seen, and throwing myself
down on the ground. watched her with
; admiration. Undine herself was no
more beautiful. She talked to the water
as to an old familiar friend and IN truth
if there be sprites and ouphes, they mus
have loved her. Her voice was clearer
than that of the stream, and when sht
laughed, as she at length did. at some ode
reply she imagined the fall to make, the
old arches OF the forest and the Tavint
, gave back musical echo, 50 that | start
: ej 10 my feet and listened 10 it as to III,
voice OF fairies indeed.
But a cry of half terror and half laugh
ter startled me, ami, springing down th'
bank, l saw her bu- ! single instant a
she disappeared in the water. He
footing had proved insecure, and siiPPe,
4, from the rock into the embraces Of th'
stream she loved.
i was the work Of an instant 10 sprln:
!, out 10 her, and swim but few strokes i
: the shore and she was not q particle
frightened by the occurrence. On tn
contrary, the words rang with her uncon
trcllable laughter as soon as she was e.
: the shore.
d | walked in that same forest two year
E ago, and heard the music OF that rIngin-
5 laughter through the long halls Of time
7 made scarcely more melodious by lis pas
n sage through the corridors ot years.
J Placing her in the boat, and taking tn
5 oars from Ned. l soon delivered ther