Litchfield enquirer., 1870-07-07

When the Reverend William Shaw sent his child to her mothers brother to be supported and to find a home, he had no choice. He died penniiess, and this asy- lum was open to his child, so when he bade her ''try to be happy and contented at her uncle's," he forced himself to think she was too young to realize her deprivation ot gentle culture and intellectual food.
 How was it with the child? Looking upon her fathers dying request as sacred charge, she conscientiously tried to be happy. If her refined nature shrank at first from the homely surroundings of the farm life, from the coarse dress the hearty fare, the rude familiarities of her home, nobody guessed the pang. Faithfully she tried, not only to fulfil her new duties, but to love them.
 She was no drone in her busy hive. Hel Aunt Martha exacted from Maude, Jennie, and Lizzie daily duties, as her Uncle John required help from the three boys; but there was no one more useful than Hester. Wholly ignorant at first. she was "wonder fully teachable, " as Amt Martha admitted. The proud little head that had puzzled out daily problems in algebra, solved the mys teries of French and Latin grammar, and pondered gravely over 'spapa's sermons. proved equally apt at remembering the due proportions of eggs, butter and milk in household compounds, and the exact amount of boiling required for each varie ty of vegetables or meat. The delft little fingers that had mastered Czerneys exer' cises and were skilled in sampler work and button hole stitching, put aside these lux uries to pick berries, sweep bedrooms, SCOUT pots and pans, milk cows. feed hens. and master all the maEy household occu' pation's of a farmers daughter.
 It was all done cheerfully. Hester had been taught that the Heavenly Father asks willing service from his handmaidens in whatever station of life it pleases Him to place them, and she gave her portion ol labor lovingly and gratefully, appreciating the fact that she was one1more to feed and cfothe in the we'll. filled farm house, and realizing fully the kindness that never for ced this fact upon her attention. There was something, no doubt, to be attributed to her age for the adoption that would have been more difficult in an older person, but independent of this, the child was of 8 noble nature, kmoulded by loving, judi cious hands in firm Christian principle and unquestioning obedience and submission to Divine Will. I said she had been slow. ly starving, and I did not exaggerate the mental craving for nourishment, the faint ing intellectual powers that needed only support to grow strong above the average capacity of woman.
 When the Rev. Mr. Shaw's congregation sold his library and expended the sum re. allzed in clothing for his child, and in the payment of his funeral expenses and out. standing debts, there was no one to save from thls sacrifice few volumes for the desolated child, who had been brought up amongst them. John Lawton never thought of such 8 request and contented w1In allowing Hester the same privilege accorded to his osea gsEis na szz1ts three months in the winter attendance at the district school, where she droned again the lessons in geography. arithmetic and spelling she had long ago mastered and cast aside.
 To this young, craving mind, closed so resolutely and barred by duty. there sud. denly appeared this stranger, who seemed a walking encyclopaedia to the villagers and country folks, who conversed as her father had conversed, who dressed as she had seen others dress in the world that she had occupied while her father lived, who looked into her great black eyes and un. their mute pleading. He had lent her books. Can you realize the grati. tude she poured out at his feet? Food for the hungry mind that had not realized its own longing, was offered bonntifully and judciously.
 After long days spent in his office, this gentleman, who was welcome at every house Tn Greys6eld, would. stroll over to Farmer Lawton's with a new magazine in his pocket to discuss it's contents with Hes. ter. and if she ran away with her treasure to devour it alone, would affably listen to Maude's affected prattle with all the defer. ential attention of Chesterfield. She was a woman now, this child four years ago, but woman whose heart had lain dumb to all consciousness of her own beauty, her own powers of attraction, her own capaci- ty for love. Affectionate to all who had any claim upon her affection, she was sin. gularly free from maiden dreams of loving or being beloved.
 Now,as she bent over the crimson straw. berries, piling the dish in readiness for the morrows picnic, there was no thought o1 jealousy in her heart, only sharp sense of disappointment. It was impossible fo, one of her keen perceptions to be blind to the fact that Maude was a vain, empty. headed, ignorant girl, with no ideas above the routine of daily work, and most ex. aggerated appreciation of the prettiness ol her silly face.
 Hester had made hero of Mir. Ramsay. In his kindness to her he had opened 6 mine of observation, store of knowledge that had seemed to the girl unbounded. He had told her of treasures of art he had seen abroad, had painted in glowing Ian. guage the wonders of travel, had given her books to read whose marginal notes proved scholarship and learning that awoke posi- tive veneration in the young, glowing heart; she had never dreamed of him as 2 possible lover. and looked with hearty scorn upon the undisguised attempts oi the young girls around her to "catch'' him. It struck her with about the same sense of possibility and fitness as it would to have Seen barn-yard goose chasing an eagle as 1t scared to the sun.
 And now Maude had hinted that this he. TO, this being so far above all others in Hester's estimation, was so attentive to her silly self, that she was confident of his affection, and worse still, that he was ca pablo of feeling paltry anger at the ob- of the national holiday, because in the long ago times of the Revolution the forefathers of each had been at strife.
 The morrow rose unclouded and fair. All Greysfeld was stirring with the first peep of dawn, and in more than one heart the question arose: "Would Mir. Ramsay