Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1867-06-12
THE STORY OF HER HEART.

There are finer sympathies in our ma
lures, there are true and powerful sensi-
bihties hidden under the cold and careless
exteriors Of every day-life, ike the slum-
brous volcanic fires beneath the crust of
the crater, which, unseen, unfelt though
they be, must.and do break forth in gushes
of generous emotion, beneath favorable
aud unusual influences; and thank Heap-
en- that it is so! They are guarantees for
our humanity ); they show that something
of the .godllke still animates us-that
our hearts are not wholly steeled and cor
roded by contact with an evil world. - Il
Thoughts like these could not but rush
through nay brain as sat expectantly IN
the ''best room" of the old familiar farm
house, yaather | had just been sushered
by a domestic, by whom my impatient,
nervous stroke, upon the old fashioned
knocker was answered The moment
while I thus continued alone was filed
with the reflect ons of years--of lifetime;
they went dizzying. through my mind,
like the swift and startling phenomena of
kaleidoscope They were thoughts of
the boy, who, years ago, dwelt beneath
the roof Of this very farmhouse; of his
boyishs restlessness-- his wild ambition
of his farewell to his old home, and
journey to distant city-of his strug-
giles, his tolls, and his final triumphant
success of the man who had now re-
turned; for the first time, to this dear
haunt and home, ielsz5o9gs 5.s@sat sa9=r5q
''scenes Of his youth, when every charm could
please" ~ 1850 -
bearing a name, fortune, honors, and ap-
plause, and (for L wished not to deny it,
even to mysoif.) heart. = .59Gt} :. ..9a5- a
The strifes aud contentious Of business
the wnlrlwlnd round Of city pleasures
and follies, the enviable notorIety of my
name, all faded like brief illusion from
my memory, and [ became, as it were,
once more a child, in the midst Of my
childhood 's.scenes. Dear, loved spots and
faces--how my heart yearned to them
again. Twelve years seemed to have left
the place unchanged; its hone-aspeet
was the same, the hills, the fields, and
woods a2ound it. We're all there; and even
the quaint, antique pictures upon the
walls, and the ornaments upon the mantei
piece, toward which my childish eyes had
wonderingly turned-not one was chang
ed My heart throbbed quick. and loud
for moment, aud | could have Wept out
my excess of feeling Yes, i Ralph
Eimore, could have done SO, whom the
worId chose to call proud, and cold, and
heartless and my eyes were ,dimmed, for
the first time TOR years. syduawl,H a.ra4.
But this was not all ); deeper and trong-
er than any of these was the remembrance
of the little black eyed beauty, Emily
Barnard, my plaJ fellow and constant
companion in childhood, and whose girl
lish tears at my depari ure, twelve years
before, had not been forgotten Strange
that triAes such as these should linger SO
long J; but | foundothe thought Of Emily
Barnard upper rmost H. my mind, and l
knew my heart oeat still quicker as |
heard alight step in the passage, and the
entrance Of the subject of my thoughts
scattered them in an Instant. 7-zss A=l
1t was Emily--I could not be ,mistak-
en-; for though she was taller than of old,
and had the maturity Of a woman, both
in face3and form, and beautywhich her
girlhood had hardly promised, yet there
was still that soft, bright beaming of the
eye, thpse tell7traces of lurking smile, IN
her features, which would have betrayed
her to NE among a thousand. 7dt r2sa-ss
/ rose, as she paused, hesitatingly.S and
took both her hands, pronouneing, at the