Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1863-10-02
From the Boston Cultivator.
LOUISE GRAFTON:
OR
TRUE HEROISM IN HUMBLE
LIFE.
BY FLORA LELAND.


which, with the assistance of his irUga
and industrious wife, be had bought and
paid for, in the early days of their mar
riage. A few acres of land enclosed the
house, highly cultivated and handsomely
laid out, in walks, lawns and parterres
ornamented with rich profusion Of tree.
and shrubbery.
But we turn from the exterior Of tbi:
paradissical abode, and waving all GER
emony, enter the open door, over which
the jasmine and houeysuckIe have fes
tooned themselves in more than rega
beauty. Through the open window:
comes the soft summer air, breathing
the fragrance of June's sweet roses, while
the mellow light of sunset falls in wavy
lines Of gold across the green and wood
colored carpet.
Mrs. Grafton was seated in a an old
fashioned easy chair, the gift Of her
mother, when in the beauty Of her girl
hood she left the old cottage on the hill
side, to link her fortune and her happi-
ness with Abel Grafton, the one for love
of whom she could forsake father, mother
brother and sister. She was a mild
gentle-l looking woman, with clear brown
eyes, and a pale spiritual face. In the
attenuated hands and thin, STOPPING form,
you saw before you, more plainly than
words could tell, the victim Of cousump-
Gon,-a confirmed invalid, with no pros
poets, not even the shadow .of hope,
that she could ever be well and strong
again.
Louise and Clarence stood at the win
dow, happy and delighted, as they looked
upon the richly tinted clouds, which the
setting sun had gorgeously painted in
purple, carmine, and amber, and anon,
listening for the coming footsteps Of their
father returning from his daily toll in the
ship yard. These were the two only
children of Abel and Sarah Grafton, the
pride, the hope and JOY of their loving
hearts.
Louise, .he eldest, was seventeen a
few days previous to the commencement
Of our story--a girl Of remarkable
strength of mind and dignity Of charac-
ter, and Of some degree Of personal
beauty. She was tall and slender, with
eyes the exact counterpart of her moth
er's, shadowed by long, dark iashes, and
ever eloquent with a souls deep, un-
fathomabe meanings. Her rich, glossy
hair, always gracefully, though some
what carelessly arranged around a head
of the most exquisite model. Her whole
countenance was the index of the purity
of ber soul, and Of loying kindness
reaching out broad and deep enough to
encircle humanity with all its faults and
imperiectious in lis embrace.
But the quick eye of the physiogno-
mist would detect 5eneath the outshining
of these Christian virtues, an inhexibiI.-
ty of purpose, determination and firm
ness, which could not easily be overcome
by temptation, nor crushed down by dis
appointment or sorrow.-a frmness and
a fearle5sness to follow in the path Of
duty, even though that path led to the
immolation of her most cherished hopes
of happiness, and the bright dreams Of
peace, Joy and love, which fond, expect
ant youth ever beholds with the eye Of
imagination, garnered up for them in the
great storehouse of the Future.
Clarence was four years younger than
Louise,-a perfect type of boyish beauty,
with an athletic and healthy figure, an
oval face, glowing cheeks, both of pearly
whneuess, a broad, high forehead, bear
ing the impress o! giant intellect, ready
TO be developed and called into action, as
circumstances and opportunity offered,
and shaded by raven hair of unusual
luxuriance. But his eyes were the
crowning glory of his strikingly hand
some face, black as jet, often sparkling
and lighting up with the latent fires Of
genius, that yet lay concealed within the
secret laboratory of his mind. In dis
position be was ardent, enthusiastic,
brave, truthful and loving, yet delicate
and sensitive in his feelings as a girl.
Clarence was the darling, nay, almost
the idol of his sister, who loved him
with love imperishable as her own soul
She often called him her beloved Hylas,
who was the friend of Hercules, and
represented by the old sculptors as beau
tiful beyond description.
The bloom of summer had passed
away,-the hills and woods were all
aiame with the brilliant tints of autumn.