Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1865-05-25
ONE OF MANY.

|
delicate perfume floats in this twilight air
just as it did four years ago tonight.
There is nothing changed about this old
place as | look upon its picture now
There stands the stone-curbed WELL over
which the long sweep hangs, with its dan
Cling bucket, moss-covered, and dripping
water monotonously ly-just as ever. There
is Carlos kennel, and Carlo himself
is lying there, with his nose upon his out
stretched paws, and his eyes closed lazily;
precisely thus he lay as | looked out of this
window four years ago this hour | can
hear Kate and Bess and Dick and Duke
stamping with their iron hoofs in their sta
bles in the old red barn; and over the top
Of that same tree that bears the golden
sweets peeps the wooden Weather-cock
on the roof of the hay-shed The doves
have been flying in and out of their cots
over the wide door for the past hour; and
the swallows, not yet gone to Sleep are
squeaking and chattering in the caves
overhead. There bangles the swing under
the oak Yonder comes Philip whistling
up the road. He has changed no more in
these four years than if he were an image,
instead of being, as he is, a middleaged
serving-man Every thing my eye rests
on is just the same-just the same. |
wish it were not. How can, the world go
on so unchanged?
1t seems as if had been dreaming, here
by the window in the sun of the warm May
afternoon, and had just awakened in the
falling twilight. Vas it my wedding night
this night four years ago?
Yes. There on the bed within this room,
my boy is sleeping Here on my fin
ger is my wedding-ring, and kiss it, and
it is as cold to my lips as has forehead was
| Here are my Widows mourning garments
| am twenty-five. | was eighteen when
Frank drew me to his heart, here in this
very room, aud called me his darling, his
brown-eyed bride. Oh how | loved him!
! You ladies who live in cities, and whose
! lives are crowded with events-who have
loved and unloved one man after another
whose hearts were older at eighteen than
mine is this day, even after all of its deep
| joy and sorrow-yOu cannot know how |
loved my husband.
He was the only man | ever loved re-
member the only one My father was so
stern with me that him | never dared to
love- My mother died when | was little
and my father kept me always under his
| pleasure
those that country girls generally have, land
| books were my best companions There
were balls at the tavern at the crossroads
| in winter bnt | never went to them. There
were picnic parties in the woods in summer.
and husking-bees in autum, and other mer-
ry-makings of which | sometimes heard
| but which | never saw Almost my only
knowledge of life outside my own home
was gathered from the glimpses | got of
the neigbol people on Sundays at the little
church where all the farmers on Moreton
Heights met to worship, and still do 1t
was there / first saw Frank-when | was
a little curly-headed girl, and he was
blue-eyed boy five years my senior. There
| saw all | ever saw of him, till was six
| teen and he was home for the college va
cation. | met him then, one afternoon as
| was coming home from a neighbor's house
and he walked along by my side | loved
him that hour with my whole soul; and du-
ring the two years following L learned to
find my sweetest happiness in his smile,
the thrilling touch Of his hand, the soft
words of love he spoke to me; and at last
to sink in the tremor of unutterable happi-
ness upon his breast when he asked me to
be his wife.
Can you wonder, then, that the wedding
night on which he made me his was daz-
zling i'll its brilliancy to my eyes? ] was
almost intoxicated with the novelty and
the Joy of that scene. The great rooms of
Squire MOreton's house were like those of
a palace compared to the humber home
where had been reared and it was there
we were married, for Frank wished it so.
The crowding guests, the cleaning lights,
the marriage ceremony, the congratulations,
the whispered joy of my husband as he
beut over me, and the odor of the apple
blooms, pervading all, seemed like beau
tiful dream then, seem like a dream now,
with the orchards perfume alone remain
ing
Do you believe me exaggerating when |
say that | would have yielded up my life
unmurmuring for my husbands sake? If
you do, it only shows that you have 20
conception of love like that | bore for
Frank 1t was wrong to love a man so,
perhaps; but oh, was so happy! He was
my all, remember. On him | lavished the
long-hoarded affection of nature whose
depths no mortal being had looked into be-
fore him. My heart would leap with glad
ness at the sound of his voice at distance
knew his footstep so well that | would
go far beyond the gate to meet him when
he was coming up the road. His kiss was
heaven to my lips, and the fond glance of
his blue eye would thrill my being to the
core.
You may wonder that | consented to
part with Frank when loved him so. 1t
was because | loved him as | did that |
| could not oppose him when he told me, his
face all glowing with enthusiasm, that he
wanted to raise company for the war
Then he talked SO eloquently about it, his
eye shone with such lustre, and his voice
had such cheer in it, as he spoke of going
forth with his comrads to fight in defense
of the dear old flag how could put in my
selfish protest?
But clung to his neck with silent fear
in the darkness of night, when he lay fast
asleep; | pictured his loved form lying
wounded and bloody on the battlefield, and
! hid my face On my pillow, and pressed
his dear cheek with my hand, softly, SO as
not to wake him, while | wept as if my
heart would break But in the daytime I
never let him know. | tried my best to
cheer him, for knew it was the old patri-
otic fire that burned in his manly breast,
and no tears of mine should quench it. |