Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1868-02-22
Written for the Prescott JOURNAL
JOttings by fhe vimdoxy-siIl.
THE FOUR PICTURES.
BY MINNIE GRAY.

|
gazing from my window into the dark
night, picture after picture is unfolded to
my vision. Look at them with me.
There in that frame work of golden
sunset, is the first: A little child, with
one bare foot playing in the noisy brook,
the other on the narrow plank bridge.
One little chubby hand holds tightly the
empty dinner basket. The brown curls
are thrown in disorder back from the
rosy cheeks and tho dark eyes CLEAN
with fun and merriment.
May your heart be always as full Of
JOY and sunshine, and God be ever with
thee, thou little one.
ANOTHER PIcTURE.-Tea years have
elapsed between the one we were Just
gazing at and this. Which is the fairest
That beautiful sun set This a lovely
moon light. Standing in the little vine
covered porch of her home is the same
little one,
Taller, fairer, and just sweet eighteen.
Dressed in simple white, with bright
crimson sash tied around the slender
waist, and the brown curls dropping low
on the white shoulders There are no
cleaning jewels on the white, rounded
arms, or finely turned neck, but on the
tiny fore finger is a pure gold circlet.
She is watching the retreating form
of him who has but just now placed
that ring on her finger, her face all aglow
with the love in her heart.
Bright air-castles is she building; she
sees in the dim distance an elegant home,
and she presiding over it in rustling
robes of silk and brocade. And better
than all, Willie, her Willie, will ever be
near her.
Tread gently, fair maiden, lest those
young, inexperienced feet of thine, wan
der into the wrong path, lest those bright
eyes of thine are blinded by worldly
love and ambition. For many another
as fair a maiden has yielded to the
tempter, and sold her life, her soul. for
gold. Heaven guide thee safely through
ANOTHER PIcTURE.-A parlor in an
elegant residence. A lady in the prime
of life, richly dressed, bearing a great
resemblance to the young girl in the last
| picture. She reclines on a dainty little
sofa, tho latest novel in her white, iew-
eled hand. BY the window stands a
young girl, perhaps irteen years of
age, looking leisurely into the street
below, dressed in fautlcssIy fashionable
attire. There is look of languor and
ennui about her that is sad to see in one
so young. Two boys between fourteen and
sixteen years of age are seated at a small
table playing cards. The lady is hold
ing her book before her, but there is
far of, thoughtful expression in her eyes.
Perhaps she is thinking of beautiful
moonlight evening twenty years ago,
when she, a sweet, supplemented girl,
stood on the little cottage porch, her
lovers arm encireleiDg her waist, as be
slipped the little golden circlet on her
finger. And does shearemember how
heNheart swelled with love and pride as
she thought of her Willie. Ewho was to
90 far away from her to win fame and
wealth for his little betrothed. And
then, when he bad been gone but one
short year, how the elegant and polish
ed man OF the world came and laid his
great name, and greater riches, at her
feet, and visions of wealth and magnii-
cence blinded her woman's eyes, till she
| yielded, and tried to make herself be.
lieve she loved him, that it had been
only a childish passion she had felt for
Willie. And vet, what made that quick
pain at her heart when she heard that
name once so dear to her9 And then
she gave her hand to gold, aud went to
her elegant mansion. Then she found
the man who had protested to love her
so passionately, cold and stern. How
her heart pined for WiIIie's warm, fer
vent love. But she dashed into the
most fashionable and gay society, to still
the aching at her heart. And now,
both her and her children are thoroughly
fashionable.
! ANOTHER PIcTURE.-A dismal old
garrett the beams and rafters heavily
hung with cobwebs. At the little, high
window one struggling ray of sunshine
has crept in and falls gently on the
bowed head Of an aged woman, whose
cup of JOY has long since been empty.
Does that faded, wrinked face bear any
resemblance to the little child, the
young maiden, or the proud woman of
fashions Alas it is the same. She is
bending over an old trunk, in her hand
is a little plain gold ring. Thick and
fast do her tears fall over the little token
of love. Remorse. In the open trunk
is little calico dress she had worn to
school. Here a simple white muslin
with a bright sash. Long the poor old
woman gazes at those relics through
binding tears. Does she think of her
elegant home9 Of her proud daughter
who married and left, never thinking of
the mothers love at home? Who was to
blame for her selishness! All! she
could see it all now, too late, how her
boys died the death of gamblers, how
her husband failed, and dying filled a
drunksrd's grave. And she is left
alone, and the words, alt might have
been," are ringing in her ears. Does
she look to Him ia her agony9 Does