The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1858-11-18

darting from flower to flower, or the
occasional note Of some one of tho
birds that makes its home among the
lordly, old trees. And yet the dwell
ling must have inmates, for at the rear
thin smoke is curling up and dis,
solving among the branches Of n shell.
tering oak. Pleasant as any place
may be, it must have inhabitants to
give it the cheerful home. look. 1t
needs not long descrtion to make any
house seem lonely and neglected, and
Burnside cottage has had that look
for many months, TIL now.
Listen. A plash of oars is heard
and close beside you, unnoticcd before
SO intent were you in looking at the
cottage and It's surroundings, springs
up the faithful, old house.dog, and
with a succession quick, glad barks,
rushcs 1.owna winding pathway out
Of sight.
Cheerful happy childish voices are
now heard, mingled with, "Down
Ponto, down, from one deeper and
more Sonorous. and soon emerge from
the intervening shrubbery, the own.
ers Of those same voices. No need
to tell you to whom they belong
you have guessed ere this. The pre-
vious winter, Henry Moreland has had
f,equent t, use for the lranking privilege,
in more directions than one, and
spring found him, once again, at that
home, he had, years before, enjoyed
making SO lovely.
DoubIy did he enjoy it now, though
some Thoughts ofsadness mingled with
il, but his former assurance OF hope
has been made perfect unto him, and
he knows, that living. nothing will
long part him from the love Of his
youth. and the choice of his manhood.
1t was not a work of great labor to
put Burnside in readiness for its mis-
tress. A little pruning Of the lordly
trees, little clearing away of brown
and scattered leaves from the lawn
and rubbish from the garden, and the
''Bonny SyIph." the pretty little boat
that rocked idly upon the waters, to be
mad" tight and rcpainted, few new
articles of furniture within and some
use of the housc-maid's broom, buck.
cts Of water, securing cloth and dust.
ing brush, and it was fresh and beauti.
lul as ever.
There is little change in the looks
of Madeleine. She will never seem
to change much. Her beauty is not
of feature merely, but Of mind and
soul, Of the pure, radiant spirit that
looks out Of those starry eyes, and
brcathes in every lineament other face,
in every movement she makes, and in
every word she speaks. Such as she,
never grow old. There is about them
even in extreme age, an atmosphere
ofpcrcnnial youth, for the heart is ev-
cr young. even though the head be
grey, and the cheek be furrowed, for
the soul-light within allows no dark
ness or gloom, to settle on the frosted
head or wrap its shadows round the
tottering form.
But over the countcnancc of Hen
ry, OF her husband, hath come a
perfect TRANSPORTATION. Life is no
longer something vague and indef-
finite, but an actual identity, no lon
ger to be endured, but to be enjoy
ed. He is no longer himself, mo-
tivclcss and careless ofthc future, but
the highest aims, the highest aspira-
tions, the dearest hopes are henceiorth
to be his. No longer stray waif on
the ocean of life, uncared for, and be-
longing to no o ne, he has. all at once,
a beloved wife and two aHcctionatc
children. linot his, by birth, they are
Madeleine's, and she is his, and they
lavish on him ALI the fond affection of
youthful, trusting hearts. A calm,
quiet, joyous rcpose has settled on ev-
cry feature of his noble face, high re-
solve and inspiring hope have taken
the place of forced determination to
act from principles of duty, and the
old, youthful look of happy confidence.
which Madeleine so well remembered,
has come back to him. 1t is n differ
cnt world to him, and different beings
live in it, and he, himself, is more
changed than all the rest, than any
thing else.
His love for Madeleine has been,
and is still the one feeling of his life,
part and portion of himself. With
out it, he would not be himself. Years
after as the nurse placed in his arms
another tiny babe, another daughter,
asking as she did so what shall we
NJ Al