Fremont journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County [Ohio]) 1853-1866, 1865-11-24

IOOlcneSJef friends. lar
"And how is Jane Turner! And is Miss
Charlotte married yet! How's brothers
rheumatism" 7" and so on. To all of which
queries Susan answered sensibIy and sharp
ly. All of sudden she darted at her
bundle, that had been placed on chair
near the window. st
''Oh, dear aunt, what stupid forgetful
thing I've been all this time, to forget
brought up some clover turfs for the lark
you're so fond Of"
"Oh, how very kind, Susan, to think of
poor Dicky! And they are nice and fresh.
Oh, they do remind me of the country,
they do"
Let me sprinkle them, aunt, with some
water, and give Dicky one now"
"Do, my dear, while | get the meat
down, for master always dimes at five, and
| haven'ttoo much time, Susy."
"Where is Dicky, aunt"
''Why there, dear, by the back door
] put him there to let him have as much
air as possible"
Susan tripped to the back door, and
there, in light green cage, found the lark,
no longer bright and quick, as when sent
from Colchester, but dingy, ruffied, and al
most tailless, and with eyes that had now
become knowing, yet spiritless. 1t was
hopping on a dusty little door-mat bit Of
withered turf, and was thrusting its little
graceful brown head feverishly and rest
lessly, like Sterne's starting, through the
sooty wires of its prison.
A sudden sense of the confinement and
|sordidness of London city life gloomed
down for moment over the mind of the
country girl, still untamed by cellar kitch-
ems, late hours, overwork, and want Of eX-
ercise. But she east it aside in moment,
as she would have done an evil thought,
and laughed to kill any care or sorrow that
hovered near. ~, r..-....,-a
Susan's aunt, worthy old Mrs. Thomp-
son, turned to look at her niece, resting for
a moment on the dresser the neat fillet of
veal that she was about to thrust into
cradle spit.
'That's a good-hearted girl, Pm sure"
she thought to herself. She'll be COM
fort to me as go down hill. | always
found as young people as loves the poor
dumb creatures turn out well, and wicey-
wersy."
In the meantime Susan was out there
in the little well shaft of an area, busy ar
ranging the turf in the cage, which, sprink-
led under the pump, now lifted its green
blades and purple tufts of flowers that
smelt of honey, and seemed to bring cer-
tain portion of sunshine with them into
that extremely ''shady" place. The bird,
busting about in his little meadow, had
already gathered new life from that pleas
ant reminiseence of freedom and the coun-
try. At first he merely darted to and fro,
quick as rat, and thrust his head in and
out of the bars, like the immortal starting
aforesaid but presently darting to the
root, as if with the fullest intention of beat
ing out its brains, the poor little exile from
the blue air and white wandering clouds,
failing in that attempt, poured forth in
grateful gladness little hurricane ofinno-
cent and tender music.
"Dicky is SO pleased" said Susan, trip
ping back and kissing her aunt on the
back of her neck, as she stopped over the
ENGAGED veal. 'IAnd now to tell me what
sort Of an old gentleman master is. Shall
/ be servant enough 1t is such grand
house, aunty."
Mrs. Thompson sat down, with the fillet
of veal reposing on her lap as if it were a
child, and discoursed:
He is very kind, upright gentleman,
is Mr.. Dobbs, Susan, and it is very re-
spectacle, comfortable place for them who
choose to make it so. And the young men
in the shop, especially Mr.. Tompkins, the
foreman, are most well-behaved. A little
noisy and mischievous the younger ones,
but such is life. It's place, Susan, to be
proud Of, as l have found these thirty year
as | lived in the parish of st. Margaret
Noses"
The veal began to turn most delicious
| light brown, and to weep tears Of fat over
its own inevitable fate. At sight OF these
savory symptoms, Mrs. Thompson took
down from nail near the clock an old
black bonnet with strings never meant to
tie.
81 must just run over to Mrs. Peacock s
for moment, and get some parsley for
garnish. Watch the meat, there's dear,
till I return. l want to ask her how her
husband is, for he's bad with the rheu-
matte fever, poor dear soul. shan't be
long; l shall be back by four. Master al
ways comes down at half-past four to was b
his hands for dinner, and he's as regular
as clock-work. Then he goes out to take a
quiet turn in Daraper's Gardens or Old
Jewry, to give him an appetite, and just
az the clock strikes five you'll hear him
knock. Goodbye, dear; mind the bast-
ing, for that's perfect picture, that tillet
of veal is, though Isay it as shouldn't say
it. 1t does look rather dark, but | won't
take my umbrella, because the shop is on
J. ly Just over the corner OF the lane. Bless
me, how that dear bird do sing! It's very
nice, but it don't 60 through your head
like canary do"
With such good-natured chatter the
faithful old automaton, ignorant of al
country pleasures, and Needless OF the JOYS
of liberty, toddled upstairs on her kind er
rand. The front door slammed behind
her.
is there in all the world any object SC
pleasant to the eye or to the mind Ito see
that is or to contemplate as fresh, pure
Girl absorbed in day-dream, lost in rosy
lcIouds of the illimitable future. apino the
toiling thinker, yet merely playing witt
the kaleidoscope of the young Imagination
How could l hope to sketch those simple
day-dreams of Susan's How could
lconvey to the minds of others her glimpse
of thatched roofs overrun with roses; o
kind old faces watching for the postman
of green lanes and tranquil churches, witt
yew, which no centuries of sunshine car
enliven, looking in wistfully at the win
dows; the murkier but still Luminous
scenes from London streets, across whicl