Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-05-21
From Dickens Household Words.
LOST ALICE.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.

Why did marry her? l often asked my
self the question. in the days that succeeded
| our honeymoon. By right, | should have
married no one. Yet | loved her, as love
| her STILL
She was, perhaps the strangest character
| of her age. In her girlhOOd could not COM
prehend her; and often think, when / raise
my eyes to her grave, quiet face, as she sits
| opposite me at dinner, that do not compre-
bend her yet. There are many thoughts
working in her brain of which know nothing,
and flashes of feeling look out at her eyes
now and then, and go back again, as captives
| might steal a glimpse of the outer world
through their prison bars, and turn to their
brick-walled solitude once more. She is my
wife. | have her and hold her as no other can
She bears my name. and sits at the head OF
my table; she rides beside me in my carriage,
or takes my arm as we walk; and yet know
and feel, all the time that the darling of my
past has fed from me forever, and that it is
only the ghost of the gay Alice, whom l won
in all the bloom of her bright youth, that
fingers near me now.
She not child when | married her,
though she was very young. mean, that life
had taught her lessons which are generally
given only to the grey-haired and had laid
burdens upon her which belong of right to the
old. She had been an unloved child, and at
the age of sixteen she was left to herself, and
entirely dependent on her own eXertions.-
Friends and family she had none, so she was
accustomed laughingly to say; but l have
since found that her sisters were living, and
in happy homes, even at the time when she
accepted that awful trust of herself and went
out of the great world TO fulfill it. OF this
part of her life she never speaks; but one
who knew her then has told me much. 1t
was time of struggle and pain, as well il
might have been. Fresh from the life of a
large boarding-school, she was little fitted for
the hustle of ii great selfish city; and the
tears come to my eyes as | think, with kind
of wonder, on the child who pushed her way
through difficulties at which strong men have
quailed, and made herself name, and posi-
ton, and home. She was a writer,-at first
a drudge, for the weekly press, poorly paid,
and unapprecated. By-and-by, brighter days
dawned aud the wolf went away from the
door. She was admired, read, sought after.
and-above all-paid. Even then, she could
not use the wisdom she had purchased at
so dear rate. She held her heart in her
hand, and it was wrung and tortured every
day.
Il may as well stop breathing as stop low
ing" she would say, with happy smile
Don't talk to me about my folly. Let me
go on with my toys; and, if they break in my
hand, you cannot help it, and shall not come
to you for sympathy.
She was not beautiful; but something
whether il was her bright, happy face, or the
restless gaiety of her manner-bewitched
people, and made them like her. Men did
the maddest things imaginable for her sake;
and not only young men in whom folly was
pardonable, but those who should have been
too wise to be caught by the sparkle of her
smile, or the gay ringing Of her laugh. She
did not trust them; her early life had taught
her better; but | think she liked them for
awhile, till some newer fancy came, and then
she danced past them, and was gone.
1t was in the country that met her first;
and there she was more herself than in the
city. We were distant relatives, though we
had never seen each other, and the Fates sent
me to spend my summer vacation with my
mothers aunt, in a country village, where she
was already domesticatcd. Had | known
this, should have kept my distance; for 1T
was only fourteenth or fifteenth cousinship
that lay between US. and had kind OF
horror of her. hardly knew why. | was
stead y-gong, quiet sort OF lawyer, and hated
to have my short holiday OF rest and quiet
broken in upon by \ fine lady. l said as
much to my aunt, in return for her announce
ment of "Alice Kent is here,n with which she
greeted me- She looked over her spectacles
in quiet wonder as gave her slight sketch
of the lady's city life, as had bad IL from the
Inns of Mrs. Grundy" herself
swell--live and learn, they say. But who
ever would think il was our Alice you are
talking Of. Frank. However, III say no more
about her. You'll have plenty of time 10 &c,
acquainted with her, In the month you mean
10 pass here. And we are glad 20 see you,
and your bedroom Is ready,-the one you
used to like"
| took up my hat. aud strolled away to
have look at the farm. By-and-by, got
over the orchard wall. and crossed the brook,
and the HIGH road. and went out into the
grove behind the house. whose farthest trees
were growing on the side Of the hill which
looked so blue and distant from my chamber
window. II was an old favorite place OF
mine. A broad wagon track led through the
woods. out to a clearing on the other side,
where was a little sheet OF water, called The
Fairy's Looking-giass, aud beautiful view
Of lovely country. with the steep green hills
living down Ia the distance, wrapped IN soft
feecy mantle Of cloud aud hare. l could
think OF nothing when stood there. on 9 line
sunshiny day, but the long gaze Of Bunyaas
Pilgrim through the shepherds giass, al the
beautiful city towards which he was Journey
Ing. And II teemrd sometimes a. II coaid
wander 'over the hills and far away" and
lose myself In enc Of the fair valleys At ths