Rutland weekly herald. [volume] (Rutland, Vt.) 1859-1877, 1866-04-26
For the Rutland Herald.
a Story that L Found.
ny HUGH WHITING.

| In looking over drawer of old pa
pers the other day, l CHANGED upon a
package tied with a faded blue ribbon,
and yellow with time. Curiosity prompt
ed me to examine it. 1t proved to be
the history of a most intimate friend of
my grandmother, whose portrait is
still in the possession of the family, and
which l have studied for many long
| hour.
transcribe her history, as l found it
written by herself emitting good deal
which I think might not interest the
general reader.
First of the portrait 1t was proba-
bly, painted at about the age of twenty
two. The face would not strike you as
beautiful, yet looking upon it once you
would return to look again, to linger,
turning away and looking back. There
was harmony Of feature color and ex-
preston, making no separate or distinct
impression, but haunting, fascinating
you.
"Some days Of our lives are never for
| gotten, not always on account Of the
Importance Of any event transpired
but they make an impression. We do
not know why, we never forget them,
That soft spring day, a day of balmy
warmth, of delicious GOODNESS, a day of
dreamy existence, yet not of languor.
A poet inspired, intoxicated, might have
written madrgals sweet as the love
songs Of birds. For me. | was deli
ciously, placidly happy. I felt within
me some melody as when soft voices dy-
ing vibrate in memory.
At twilight | threw a light shawl
around me and walked out. Absorbed
in dreamy, absent mood, l noticed moth
ing wandering on l had gone far out
on the beach.
Pardon me, lady, you will soon be in
danger, unless you retrace your steps"
! looked up startled. I could see the
form OF the speaker but dimly in the
gathering darkness. The address was
respectful.
l had been too absorbed. was too
startled to act upon his suggestion. even
to thank him.
A wave rolled fearfully near. He
! took me by the arm, almost dragging
me. The spray dashed upon US. The
waves covered the sand Just upon our
footsteps He was strong. We were
soon out of harms way. A low music
al laugh escaped him as releasing me, he
looked back upon the tempest.
The wind by this time was blowing at
furious rate, I could scarcely keen
on my feet.
Il had better walk home with Won "
he said, taking my hand through his
arm,
l merely thanked him for his kind
ness, indicating the way. 1t was with
great difficulty could walk, even with
his assistance. There was little or
nothing said by either of us. I remem-
Der when he had helped me up the steps
asked MIN to come in; but he declined
and giving me his name-Paul Denver
said he would call on the morrow.
dld not view the affair as romantic
ID the least. Indeed, | thought very lit
tle or II, except that he was very kind
and l felt greatly obliged to him. A
very ordinary matter for people to be
kind, and for us to feel obliged to them
for it. '-'>'-'
L remember just before falling to sleep
That night of wondering whether that
day might not be a type of nv present
and future life, so quiet and serene. fol.
lowed by a storm as sudden and as VIC
lent.
The next day Mr.. Denver called. 7
expressed my thanks for his timely aid
which he received, l noticed, making no
set, fine speeches, but naturally and
courteoSly
He was, believe me, very much like
other men-that is, men who are men
1t is true, he was tall and well-propor.
toned, having that look of strength
which is essential to the physical nobility
of man. 1t is true he had a remarkably
1ne countenanca. Moreover he was in.
well-read az they say, which I
ought to mean q great deal more than II
does. He had none of the
11ackneyed manners of polite society, !
rom which it is easy to infer that his
manners were both graceful and pleas .
ng. He was an artist with nothing ar. /
'istic about him. He painted well with
'ut talking professionally. ,
He called again and again during the ,