Vermont daily transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1868-1870, 1869-04-30

Good We, Martha. God bless YOU
| shall be back in three days, 1t the
farthest.N
The hardy White Mountain pioneer
Mark Warren-kissed his young wife,
for moment, and then, shouldering
the sack OF corn which was TO be con-
verified into meal at the rIde mill 40
miles awaysttl judged off Though the
wilderness.
Martha Warren stood at the door of
the log cottage, going out after the re-
treating form of her husband. An an.
gle of the dense shrubbery hid him
from view, but still she did not return
to the solitary kitchen. 1t was so dark
and lonesome there, 81. e shrank from
ent ring, or perhaps the grand sublim-
ity of the view spread out before her
h cid her attention, and thrilled her soul
with that namcless, unexplained some
thing that we all feel when we stand
face to face with the works of His
fingers.
The finest and mo t satisfactory view
Of the White Mountains is that which
presents itself from what il now the
town of Bethlehem. Oh the road to Lit
tie town and FrancOnia.
Mount Washington, the king among
princes, is there seen in his proper place
THE center of the "rOck-r. bbed" range,
Owering, bald, blue and unapproacha-
BILE.
Far up in wild clearing, close by the
| turbid waters of the Amonoosuck, was
| the cottage situated-a place wild and
eyrie enough for the nest of an eagle,
b ut dear to the heart of MartfaWarren,
as the home where she had spent the
happy days of her young wifehood.
| When she had turned from many a
patrician sutton in the fair old town of
Portsmouth, to join her fortunes with
those of the young settler, it was with
the full and perfect understanding Ofthe
trials that lay before her. She would
walk in no paths of roses for yea y to
come much o. life must be spent in
the eternal sOlitudes, where silence was
only broken by the wild winds of the
forest. the shrek of the river over the
sharp rocks, or the dismal howl of the
red-mOuthed wolf, atar off in the will
derness.
The necessary absences of her hus-
band she dreaded most. 1t was so very
gloomy to shut up her doors at night,
and sit down by her lonely fireside,
with the consciousness that there was
no human being nearer to her than the
settlement at Lords Hill-1O miles away
through the painless woods.
There was little to fear from Indians,
although few scattered tribes vet
rOamed over these primeval hunting
grounds. They were mostly disposed
to be friendly, and Mrs. Warrcn's kind
heart naturally prompted her to many
acts of kindness toward them, and an
Indian never fOrgets benefit.
The purple mist cleared away from
| thn rrn1 tnrn Il Of 4 bn Il lon, nt, Il
mountain, the yellow sun peeped over
the rocky wall, and Martha turned
away to the performance of her simple
domestic duties. The dag was long
one, but it wore toward evening, and
the cleaning comes much sooner III
these solitudes than in other places.
The sunlight faded out ofthe unglazed
windows, though it would illuminate
the distant mountains for some time yet,
, and Martha went out into the scanty
garden to inhale the sweet pinks on the
one meagre root she had brought from
her cid home.
The spicy lerfume carried her back in
memory to those days away in the past
spent with kind friends, and checred by
i. bright young hopes. But though the
thought of home and kindred made her
sad, not for a moment did she regret the
fate she had chosen.
Absorbed in thought, she had not OBJ
: served the absence of Charlie, her little
boy. Now she saw, with vague uneasi-
,, ness, that he had left the bed of pepper
mint where he had been playing, and
was not to be seen. She called his name,
but only echo and the roar of the swol-
len river replied.
She flew back to the house, the faint
hope remaining that he might have re-
: turne thither for his pet kitten but no,
the kitten was mewing at the window,
but no signs of Charlie.
With fiantic haste, she searched the
clearing, but without success. Her next
thought was of the river, black rs night,
save where it was flecked with spots oil
snOw-white fOam-it flowed but few
f rods below her.
She hurried down the brink, calling
out:
, "Charlie! Charlie ~
The child's small voice at some little
: distance replied. She followed tne
f sound, and, to her horror, saw her boy
his golden hair and rosy cheeks clearly
defined against the purple twilight
sky-standing on the very brink of the
huge detached rock, some ten feet from
the shore, out in the sweeping current
of the river!
! This rock, called by the settlers,
: 1.-The Pulpit" was a good situation for
catching tish-lines, and Mark Warren
had bridged the narrow chasm between
it and the shore with couple of he IN
logs.
Allured by some clusters of flaming