Litchfield enquirer., 1864-10-20

would be work of supererogation to introduce mirrors into that house, when one may see ones face in everything. But, as said Aunt aepzie was in the kitchen when she heard skrimping noise,' as she reported to me sub- sequently, with vigor of direction peculiarly her own, and turning, was aware of figure standing in the doorway.
 Mrs. Sinclair, thisk.' said the stranger, with bow.
 Yes, that is my name.' replied auntie. moro concise than suave. What did hs want to come to the back door for P she thought.
 And mine is Farley said the young man i; I think you used to know my mother, Mrs. Sinclair, and l hope you'll let me come and see you sometimes for old acquaintance's sake.'
 I'd be very glad to see you. Tn sure,' said aunty, more or less stiAy. The chivalrous bearing in the visitor wal not lost upon the hostess.
 My aunt sent over this basket of'roots from her garden. Perhaps you will allow me to set tbem for you in your border7' 'Oh. I'm much obleeged Won't you just come in and sit down for minute r
 And the young man crossed the kitchen. hinging his broad-brimmed straw hat upon the white table, tossing back his curls, and then seizing upon the dozing cat.
 'Wake up here, puss, and see your friends,' he said, holding the astonished quadruped at arms length by the nape of the neck And by the bye, Mrs. Sinclair. how is your dog Beppo? heard that some young rapscallion had broken the old fellows leg for him."
 "Yes indeed" said Aunt Hepzie, and she went on to detail the abuses of her favorte.
 What the heel was to Achilles. what the joint of the harness was to the 1sr@litish king, her dog and cat were to my good aunt. Ih's bow, drawn at venture, had sent his shaft to the vulnerable point; and by the time Beppo's leg had been bandaged by the visitor, Aunt Herzie's animosity had vanished.
 Wont you sit down and take bit O din ner with an old woman ? she asked when they came hack to the kitchen.
 'Inieed I will. if you will let me, privately, Mrs. Sinclair r'-and his face assumed cont- 'ential exnrossion-'I hoped you'd ask me, because I have heard everywhere of your won- 7erru butter, and I want to taste it,
 'Oh. bless VOLT soul, my butler aint nothing to hrae of? When you go homo, though you remind mo, and I'll sen1 alone ball ont to Mss Ionoe. Your aunt she's alters talkn. about my huter.'
 And so Annt Fepzie. fairly conquered hy good nature laid down her arms and was no more to be ranked among the halligeront powe:s And so. l suppose. she forgot her warning bnt not So l. Thore was not one of ali those summer afternoons when Philip and sat reading on the porch. not an hour of all those remembered hours when we went floating down the river, when for one moment forgot Neither did forget my mothers story of her beautiful young sister, Lucy aged eighteen the headstone said. whose heart a noble lover had held and treasured until ona day, there came gay sultor from the city and stole the prize, and afterward trampled upon it. I remember it all, and said to my self many times in the day that it was only for little while-only for those summer days. and then was sure things could easily be made to fall back into the old line again.
 It was May when Aunt Hepzie came to tea. It was September when Philip and I stood, one evening, upon the porch. The woodbine was crimson, and away down the west the day was burning itself out behind golden bars. We had been riding up on the hills to see the sun set.
 Good night,'I said, my hand upon the latch of the door.
 Stop moment, Lou
 And I turned, startled a little at the quick persmptory tone.
 Your servant, sir and I made mock obeisance.
 Philip stood pulling the leaves from tho vins and his face was very white. I think mine was white too, when he said:
 Do you know am going back to morrow Lou ?
 Back wherel Of course knew, but had lies plenty in my right hand that night. Home. Back to New York, and God knows where thsa-into the army, perhaps speaking quickly.
 Well it has been very pleasant summer, I said, carelessly enough. And then no one spoke, and it was very still, only could hear the rushing of the brook in the glen.
 sIs that all you have te say to me before go, Lou?' he asked.
 T never bid my friends good by. It isn't pleasant. Of course wish you a delightfu journey replied, cooly. l don't recollect that I've anything more to say
 Well, I have then, to say to you And be pulled a handful of crimson leaves, and flung, shower of flame, upon my black habit :. Lou, you must know it-I will not bid you