The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1869-08-25
KATiENG GRAY.


I am tired looking out of the window
down the dull street; how sick am Of
these French towns! I think I would
rather live in garret in England, with
the yellow fog hanging thick around the
smoky panes, than go on day by day
dragging out ny weary existence here.
/ have looked out at. the white houses,
with their wooden shutters and lace our
tains, till I am sick of their uniformity.
Listen, little mother, who left me for
your Fathers mansion so long ago. You
would not know the little one now whom
you left o bright-faced child, with big
gray eyes, and long soft curling hair.
The eyes are dim with many tears now,
little mother, and there are deep lines in
the brow and around the mouth-not
laughter lines that grow about the eyes,
but lines scored by pain and WEAKNESS.
There are threads of white in the hair
they tell me you were wont to be so proud
Of. I am only twenty-eight, four years
younger than you when you died, and
yet I look years older than that sweet
picture of you always wear round my
neck. You would not like to think you
had only brought your child into the
world to suffer and be sad, dear, would
you and so will tell you first of those
glad days that were 30 bright, 80 full of
dancing sunshine, when the world SEEM
ed made for me, and when I could not
realize better, happier world than the
one / live in. 1t was on my seventeenth
birthday, little mother, the ninth of
June-you recollect, and went dancing
over the lawn to meet papa as he came
from the church-yard. He used to go
there every morning and say his prayers
by your grave, poor little mother, and
then he would come sorrowfully and
slowly homeward until met him at the
gate, and then he would smile at your
child and kiss her fondly and stroke her
head. Oh, mother, have you found out
yet why some of us poor toilers love SO
fondly and faithfully to our lives end,
and have the delight of our eyes taken
away, and others who have no heart or
love, only their own selfish vanity, tread
smooth, fowery paths, and trample on
the devotion of true hearts ? Is it we'll?
Must we say, cit is we'll /"
This ninth day of June, eleven years
ago, ran across the lawn to meet papa,
happy returns of the day, little one u
before could get up to him. And then
he put on my finger pearl ring, saying,
"Wear that, dear-it was your mothers, I"
and his voice shook little, and tears
sprang to my eyes, more for the sake of
his sadness, dear, than for you whom
scarce remembered. But in moment I
was laughing again, as hung on his
arm, and we walked up together past the
bright flower border to the house, stop
ping now and then to pick cluster of
roses from the wire arches. Then we
went into breakfast in the little morning
room, left all unchanged since you were
there; with your piece of unfinished
work and your fairy thimble and gold
scissors under glass case in the corner.
All, many a time papa glanced at that
and sighed, and then / would exert my
self more and more than ever to be lively
and cheerful, and to make him laugh at
my merry conceits.
IT met the squire this morning,
Katie" papa said, as poured out his
tea, ''and when he heard it was your
birth. day, he said you should go up there
to tea, and have Strawberries and cream.
And Charlie has come home-he asked
after you, too"
':I'm sorry for that" I said, "because
now shan't have Maggie all to myself.
And he used to tease me so.''
"Ah, but he is young man now, and
quite altered since he went to India.
Let me see-he must be fve-and-twenty
at least.
Isn't it odd should remember those
trivial words so yividly, when I have lost
memory of thousands that would give
the world to recall That afternoon I
went to the hall, and Maggie and Charlie
came down through the park to meet
me. How surprised was to see him
He who years ago had been the fear and
torment of our lives, grown into such a
fine, handsome gentleman, with the
quietest, most courteous of manners.
"May call you Katie. still p he
asked, smiling as he took my hand.
Fancy his asking that, who had been
won't to call me Kit, kittens, little cat,
spitfire, possums, and anything else he
saw fit, without by your leave or with
your leave.
"Oh, yes," stammered, half inclined
to call him sir.
"And you will call me Charlie, OF
course p"
"Oh, I don't think could" cried
confusedly; and then Maggie laughed,
and asked him why he didn't kiss me as
he used to, and blushed scarlet, and
almost wished the earth would open and