Newbern weekly progress., 1860-11-27
Old Letters.
By EVA MAY.
For the Progress.

A slight indisposition confines you to your
room and time drags heavily. You turn dissatis
fed from the window, and peruse your favorite
author, until he grows wearisome and is thrown
aside; then impatiently pace the floor, and loll in
your easy chair alternately. You feel gloomy
nay moody, and wish for friend, but were he to
come, you would wish him away.
That second glance at the mirror tells you you
have very disagreeabe expression, and you are
careful not to look that way again. The clock
must be wrong-that chair is not cosy as usual
and your slippers not easy they were
yesterday. You try to Dream but neither
head nor heart is in a dreamy mood; and your
eye roams restessly round the room, till it rests
on that little locked desk-then quickly bright
ems. The pain in your head is forgotten you
lock the door-then take that casket of treasures
from its place and eagerly turn its key. 1t is
opened and there lay its many parcels in their
separate places. Here yellow package-direc-
ted in a large bold hand, and beside it tiny one
SO white and elegant-with your name delicate
ly traced on the small envelop. There are the
family letters; your Mothers close beside your
Fathers; next your sisters and brothers. Then
uncles', aunts,' cousins, schoolmates' and other
friends. Your Mothers letters so long, and low
ing, are wet with many tears ere you replace
them The hand which traced them has turned
to dust but these gentle words recall her voice,
and you almost fancy her speaking to you now.
Your Fathers too so kind yet almost stern full of
admontion and advice. Then that fair sister
like her own sweet self-tmid and affectonate
mingling words of endearment with her meek
suggestions fer your good. You weep over these,
but smile over that hastily scribbled package
from that merry brother-like himself all fun and
mischief here awkward praise then mock con-
demnation. Laughable descriptions-which need
only his merry voice to convulse you with mirth.
Kind grave letters from your uncles and aunts
are read and replaced. Then treasured ones from
your favorite cousins; recalling bright scenes
in the distant past, moments of sweet converse,
when her kind low tones fell on your ear; and
those dark eyes were raised to yours with the
confidence of sister
There heap from old school l-mates-full of
ford hattery, and expressions of changeless at
tach ment You smile at many-thinking how
were those ardent words, then be-
Iieved so true. But It's a sad smile, as you scan
the faithful words ofthat loved one who remained
your frieno when the school-days were past; as
you think of the changes which have come since
you parted. here beautiful letters from sum
ner friend" but as false as the heart of the wri-
ter; letters ed only to warn you In the fu
ture. Well may your lip curl in scorn over those
deceitful words; and you wonder how you ever
owed one SO false. For relief you turn to those
earnest, honest letters from sincere friends who
profess less friendship than they feel, but whose
actions speak instead of words.
Perhaps there's another package there more
than these, which you read and reread
with moist eyes, and beating heart-but if so
hat is your seeret-not ours.
You may feel sadder when the desk is again
ocked-but tits pleasing sadness; and you can
lrean now-in the once more easy chair and slip
the old clock ticks away the moments
put too fast.
Goldsboro,' N. G..