New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1870-09-11
ANNE,s VERSES.

| and did not contribute one iOta to tht
general fund of labor There was not OF
all Long Island so lazy maiden. She
knew not how to make pastry or butter
Her sewing was wretchedly crooked anG
uneven; and as to knowing anything
about cutting out a dress, why sister Anne
might as soon be expected to draw out the
| plan OF fertilization as to perform thai
nice and intricate branch of the female
mechanics She loved the woods, how
ever, and the green leaves, and was very
industrious in the line Of gathering wild
flowers, and attending on the birds She
was slave to the feathered tribe. She
was generally up tree when she
should have been mending stockings, and
those wildwood sports of hers did not
produce very favorable effec. upon hel
toilet. Her gowns were sadly rent, and
her shoes wore out with the most astonish-
ing rapidity while the marks of thorns
on her small delicate hands, and the tan
on her quiet, dreamy face were not the
most favorable additions to her personal
appearance. She was a moral weed in a
family of thriving and useful plants a
toy III the midst of whole factory full
of industrial machines. In vain did
mother and sisters demonstrate; in vain
did they point to baskets full of awful
shirts yet unsewn, and terrible handker-
chiefs yet unLemmed. Sister Anne
turned a lazy glance and a deaf ear to all,
and fed to the fields, where the singing
Of the birds and the breath of the flowers
| consoled her for all her troubles.
SO sister Anne sat il the porch and
! dreamed Was it Of her friend the cat
| bird, or her comrade the oriole? Did
| flowers dance before her minds eye. or did
she wander amid visionary forests? Some
| thing tells me that sister Anne dreamed OF
| none Of these, much as she loved them.
But two summers ago, tall young fellow,
with blue, bright eyes and long dark hair,
| came to board for three months at the
house, bring with him small valise, and
| large sketch book. He, too like sister
Anne, wandered all day in the woods and
fields: and it oftened happened that they
wandered together. They explored the
pleasant beaches that lie along the Sound
opposite to the hazy Norwalk shore. They
watched the gambols of the sunshine upon
the blue waters and the plumy woods; and
that summer sister Anne heard sweeter
music than the songs of birds, and had
other companions than the oriole and cat
bird. The. young artist, Stephen Basque,
was a new revelation to the young girl.
For the first time she had found one who
understood her love of nature, and did not
look upon her alteration of birds and
flowers as mere folly. He talked of art
and beauty, and sister Anne awakened to
poetry, until then divinity unknown.
He lent her couple of volumes Of Tenny-
no ahn how l,x-,, ~
life and substance, and all the passion and
beauty of earth, could be transferred into
print and paper to live forever. In the
midst of this delightful dream-dream far
more delicious than her bird and forest
visions, Stephen Basque packed up his
large vahse and large sketch-book, and
went off to New York city to pursue his
art. Poor sister Anne vas left doubly
alone and when she went out into the
fields for the first time after his departure,
it seemed as if the birds no longer knew
her as Of old. She wandered now less
than Of yore, but shut herself up in her
room. which soon began to be Uttered with
bits OF paper scrawled all over. Her
mother and sisters grumbled in vain her
little room was to her 4 sanctuary, and she
fed there from persecution. 1t seems
then to me. that at the moment l allude
to. sister Anne sat in the porch and
dreamed OF Stephen Basque.
AS usual-idlel VIII you never DO
anything useful, child?" cried Mrs. Ply
mott, sister Annes excellent mother.
Look at your sisters busy on father S
shirts, and you-you do nothing but sit
Ike lady all day long, with your hands
before YOU
Il can't work, mother. answered sisert
Anne, starting from her reverie with an
expression Of sudden pain, as the old lady
emerged from the cottage door, her large
hands parboiled with washing. Il know
[ am very useless to you, but it pains me
to sew"
s'Pains? trashr' cried Mrs Piymott.
''You are the skit of the whole village.
Do you know what they call you: You
don't, Well, they call you Mother Ply
mott's Duchess"
Sister Anne smiled sadly.
'sWe have no titles in America, she
said: $50 theT are wrong"
''Oh! its easy for you to turn it into a
Jest, but tell you its no joke for he
to have a child that is not able to earn a
cent for herself, or save one for me.
| to die? How would you earn your
Thread, eh2"
| II don't know exactly" said Annie
''bU,t don't suppose that God would al
| low ne to die OF starvation any more
| than he allows the robin and the chipping
| bird.
bIr9. Plymott burst into a loud coarse
laugh
$50 you'd live on berries and sleep in
tie hedges, my pretty little robin, would
you? Oh Il! how pleasantly you'll! find it.
III lay in a lot Of pokeberries for you
this fall, and your feeding will be cheap
during the winter"
Does my feeding cost yo1r much,
mother" asked siste, Annie, mildly.
More than you are worth, was the
brutal reply.
Then it shan't cost yqu anything TO,
the future" answered the young girl
whose dreamy face lit UP for a moment
with fash Of insulted pride
.tOl we're offended, are we? We are
going to >Sarn our own living Coco
luek to vol, child! Let Us see how long
this good resolution will last
Longer than you imagine, mother,
said SISTER Anne, retreating quietly TO he,
| room:
She had taken on a sudden strange
/ resolution. Her arrangements Were
quickly made. She packed up a few
things i'll small bundle, examined he
pockets, which she found contained ex
actly The sum of eight and s;xpence. Til
done, she sat herself down to her llttl
table and continued to wife OIL severa
ships Of paper until late in the night.
The next morning sister Anne was u
by dayIight. re.inspecting her littl