Delaware gazette. [volume] (Delaware, Ohio) 1855-1886, 1859-04-15

cannot be 7 =" and the old elder walked sot5erf!
into his lonely house.
Ten years have passed. There is changt
in the Quaker village The old meeting houss
on the hill presents the same friendly appear
aDce, it is true; butne elders sit in the place
where the old ones sat-. Elder Grants broac
brim, covering silvery hairs, no longer greets
the eye in the wonted seat on the wooden plat
form; his old farm house has passed into other
hands; the roses and vines that Martha Grant
used to tend are now trained by stranger hands,
and for these seven years, since they laid her
father away in the old burial place, her feet
have never crossed the threshold of that olden
home.
| Reuben Kane-an "elder" now, and promoted
to highest Offices, both temporal and spiritual
in the gift Of society-looks older and wears
a grayer face than when we saw him last; for
the gravity is habitual now and seems deeply
settled in his heart, too.
Since the day when Mrs. Philip Bently came
in her costly mourning robes and leaning on
the arm of her proud4ooking husband, to look
with sobs and tears, upon the calm white face
of the elder in his coffin, Reuben has not spo-
ken with Martha; he has seen her once since
though, and that was in the city where she
dwelt and where the Qurker went on business
connected with the Society; but she was in her
sumptuous carriage, with its footmen in livery.
and he in his plain gray attire and broad brinl-
med hat and the distance was wide between
them now.
Yet, as the elegant carriage was delayed a
moment at the street crossing, and be had leis-
ure to note her silken attire and the air of con-
scious pride and wealth which begirt her, Reu-
ben Kane wondered if her heart did not go
back sometimes to the home of her girlhood,
and the Quaker youth who had loved but re-
signed her there-if she did not amid the gay
pageantry of her splendid life, hear the simple
''thees" and ''thous" of her paternal dialect
if, in the splendid church, where she knelt on
velvet hassock and read from jeweled prayer
book, memory did not bring her sometimes a
dream of other years and the simple exhorta-
tions of her plain Quaker creed in the old
wooden meeting house on the hill.
For Philip, Bently though he loved his beau
tiful wife, was proud man, and grew prouder
and sterner with his years; and her he welded
for her beauty, must never refer to her old
fashioned faith or home.
Perhaps had Martha Bently been left to
herself. in time, she might have become ALL or
mitch her world husband desired her to be-
but the very fact tha the laid his commands upon
her weighed heavily upon a nature unused to
restraint, and when she turned from her fa-
thers grave to her fashionable life again, it
was with sad feeling of loneliness and heavy
heart.
Yet she encased herself in crust of pride
and vert abOat her daily life. None, looking
upon the magnifciently attired woman Of
fashion, would have dreamed her the modest lit
tie Quaker maiden, who used to dosi her drab
silk bonnet ard 4send her way to the Quaker
meeting house en- the hill. It was in such
splendid attire, in her ifveried carriage, that
Reuben Kane saw her that moment in the city
and he bore back to the quiet village no long
er dream of Martha Grant, the elders daugh-
ter, weeping over her dead fathers coffin, but
the gay, splendid women of fashion and wife
of the rich Philip Bently.
Time passed; and then there came to Reii-
ben a tale of the rich mans death. Suddenly
smitten down in his worldly pleasures and
pursuits, Philip Bently died and was buried;
and his widow was left mistress of q vast es-
tate.
Such was the story that came to him in his
quiet home; but remembering that vision of
naughty beauty sitting in her velvet lined car
riage in the city street, he only sighed and
said to himself:
"Well, Martha Bently is a rich and worldly
woman now. God give her grace to keep her
heart from vanity. and preserve her from the
deceitfllness of riches. She is a changed wo-
man from the girl who used to trip lightly
about the old place yonder, or sit in the old
meeting house on the hill. All well r' and
with long sigh, the grave-face Quaker went
about his daily tasks again.
There was a stir in Enfield-that Is; sss crest
stir as the placid equable-tempered Friends
of the Society there found it possible to in
dulge in. Sober, by-rule, Quaker eountenances
wore looks of surprise; "thees' and "tkous'' fell
from nlatron's lips at more glib pace than
customary; and knot of broad-brimnsed men
might have been seen at various hours of the
long Jtne day colleeted ct the "corner" in close
conversation.
The widow of Philip Bently-the rich 7sid
ow now, but once Martha Grant, the elders
daughter-had bought the old place and was
coming back to settle again! The family in
possession gave new title deeds, for which they
received handsome equivalent, for money
was but drug in the hands of the newcomer;
then wagon loads Of city furniture came down,
and was arranged in the chambers and the old
west room which had once been the Qnaker's
parlor.
There was one room, however, which had re-
manned untouched, save to be restored to- its
olden appearance in the farmhouse; and that
was the stting-room, where we first introduced
Martha to TIE reader. There were carpets and
aeecy curtains, delicate vases ard CARED chairs
elsewhere; but this old sitting-room still held
the antique polished furniture, the little ever
green-wreathed mirror, the tall eight-day clock
in the corner, and the set of bright brass fire.
dogs on the hearth, While the white foey shone
spotlessly clean in the clear June sunlight fall
ing through the little pancd windows
1t was strange fancy, people might have
thought, this of the rich widow and yet, sfiro
ever has turned from gilded city saloons with
their sumptuous furnishings, to the dear old
farmhouse of his BIRTH will feel vhat a positive
refreshment to the weary heart, is sueh a vip
ion Of the vanished years, when life was new,
and the cankering cares of the world had not
worn away much of the freshness and freedom,
leaving instead much of the en1ui and weari-
ness of safety. -.
So felt Martha Bentley. AS her foot eros
sed the old threshold, and she hreathed again
her native air, it seemed that the old years had
rolled back and once more she stood, careless
girl, underneath that old messy roof.
Who creates an ideal future to find it rcafi-
zed? Who places her faith in love, and goes
through life without tasting bitter waters of
disappointment? So had it been with Martha.
Her ardent imagination had colored the pic
ture to brightly. She had known sore happy
years with Philip Be1rtIy; but the man who