Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1866-10-04

Long Afterwards When many years hdu
passed, Frank Liston sometimes tried to re-
call and bring TO life again the many hours
that he subsequently passed within this
room. How were they spent? What had
he done? What had they talked of? What
had been the charm chat had made these
three-so unlike in all outward circum-
stances as they were+-draw to each otheNl
He could never tell,--could never breathe
life again into the dead ashes Of those hours.
Twenty wears afterwards, could he have
gone and spent hours each day with two
poor untaught women-women who could
noEread nor write, who neither knew nor
dreamt of the heightor depbh of anything
in this great world, whose universe was
almost bounded by the four square walls OF
the mean hahitation where they dwelt,-
could he have passed hours each day with
such as these and found his heart grow
knitted to then lie could not. But he
did it once ID the old, dead days Of hisearly
faith and hope, when he saw brother or q
sister in every kind face he looked on, and
where the pure high heart gazed forth on all
the world though the light Of its own trans
figuring sunshine.
Day after day, and even week after week
passed on, and he remained still IN Rouen
He had meant when he left .hometo ovislt
some three or four of, the Norman or
Bretaigne towns; but he had let bis heart
get welded to This one cid city by the Seine,
and he could not leaveittifl his holiday was
ended. 1t called him to staygWith1 voices
that he could not resist; itspread its silent
beauty out before him, discovering to him
day by day some new unexpected loneliness,
it gave him its old grey walls TO study, the
records of its grandeur and it's decay; it
gave him 1tsF old heart to disinter; and it
gave him Christine IPerhaps she kept him
more than. all besideI; perhaps the one huf-
man interest was deeper. than all that could
attach itself to sculptured stones; but he, SG
least, if it was so was scarcely conscious Of
Of it, He did not seek to weigh the sepa-
rate interests apart ;; he only knew that she
was to him, that she remained to him
through his whole life, enc inssparable por-
ton of Rouen, and Of that summers holi-
day. s a4 g.1s. s5r,i,3 .f.sa.
- It was a perfect holiday, even although
each day till almost sunset he worked away
bravely at those sketches OF his--those
sketches which were half right, because the
feeling in him for everything around him
was 30 deep and 80 true. and yet which in
their execution were nearly always so i'm
mature and feeble, except when here and
there some momentary inspiration gave to
been no holiday to him at all if he had been
compelled to lay his pencil down. Such
work az he did here was his best refresh
aIaent, his dearest rest. With ever-ending
delight he drew oil day; and every evening
he passed with Christine. a9u;4i9b sd
Sometimes they spent the whole Of those
evenings up in the poor garnet of the mar
row street; but more often she would carry
her basket and her earnings home, and then
they would wander far out of the town
together, southwark across the river. or out
to the open country, north and west, or
eastward, away nponthe hills. They would
sit in the woods and fields, playing some
times like children, gathering flowers and
filling the hollows of their hands with water
from the hill stream. She could sing pref
tily, and she would teach her merry French
songs to him, singing them again and again,
till he learnt both air and words And
then he would talk to her. He was full of
dreams and hopes about his lHee, and Of love
for hundred things, living and dead, that
she never heard of, and of enthusiasm and
reverence and faith; and of I'LL these. he
talked to her; be would spend hours SO,
pouring out his boyish heart; how half of
all he said to her must, in her ignorance,
be like dead language to her-he forgot
that; she listened and sympathised with
him, and that was all he asked.
They spent six weeks so. Al the end of
that time they parted. The last hours that
they spent with one another were on a
bright soft Sunday evening. They took
their last walk eastward by the river, and
then up On the rising ground to the summit
of Mount St. Catharine, and there sat down
on the hilltop, with the fair city lying at
their feet.
i',"Oh, Christine, shall not see it all
again, perhaps!" he said, when he had sat
gazing at it for long time. Had1 . ii
They had come here together and had
spent other evenings so before now; the
hill, the town, the river, the dark cathedral
towers against the summer sky, had all be-
come familiar to the boys eyes that were to
see them now no more.
Perhaps you will come here again next
Sunday, when I shall be hundreds ST miles
away, Christine he said. 81 wonder if
all this will seem like dream then ?"
lib ss,It will not seem like dream to me, she
answered softly. g You will have other
things to do; you will be at home then with
the people that you love about you; but I
shall have nothing to do, monsieur, but to
sit still and think Of all this time" ~
She always called him g Monsieur" even
still. He had asked her long ago to call
him by his name, but she had never done it.
g have never been so happy in all my
life he said presently; he had thrown
himself down on the grass, and laid his
head upon her knees; he was looking at the
old town, not at her. g If II lived for q
hundred years I nsyer should forget these
weeks. If ever I have holiday again,
shall come back, Christine ?'''2''.'' 7 .
''I should be glad if you came back" she
said. af.Ior5qo2
She was bending down little, not touch
ing him, as he lay, but only looking at him
with the lashes low over her eyes.
elf | come back next summer don't
think could, but supposing Gid-should
we have all our old walks over again ? Do
you know, Christine, they say we never
enjoy the same thing twice IN the same
way. But don't believe that. If | were
to come back again next year, why should
we not be just the same as we are now y
"Perhaps we change when we do not
know it," she said.
ID. "We need never change in some things
he answered, hastily. 80 l don't know
whether you mean to forget me, Christine,
but | shall remember yow to the last hour l
live U} a '4f
Monsieur, shall not forget you," she
answered softly, after a moments silence.
What shall l have to do when you are
gone, but to remember? When como here
can forget how we walked and sat togeth-
er? When I go home to my mother Gan I
FORGET how v0ur coming used to make her