The Sweetwater enterprise. (Sweetwater, Tenn.) 1869-187?, 1871-01-26
OUR WEEKLY SYDNYa

BY clio STANLEY.

without the night was dark and chill.
The fierce wind came sweeping through
the walkI, and whistled around the sharp
corners Of the house with 4 Ioughing
sound, while the shutters ratified in the
freezing blast like the teeth of shiyering
wight.
Within, all was bright and warm, a
cheerful fire LACED and cracked on the
hearth. Its grateful light fell warm upon
the chamber walls, rejecting a genial glow,
and bathing the p~ictuIes in a soft, mellow
haze.
An air Of cory comfort pervaded the
room, and as we lowered closely around
tho hearth, we could but feel grateful for
the light and the love Of our home.
There were three OF us-I mean We
children-nOt counting Aunt Milly. Sue,
with her queer, thoughtful face, p%illowed
on her chubby palms. Belle, with her
hands clasped around Aunt Miles knees,
and her bright eyes gazing lovingly up in-
to her face, and | rocking dreamingiy in
my chair, wondering if | would ever be as
good and as wise as dear Aunt Mile, aud
ever now and then unconsciously reaching
out my hand to her shoulders.
Old Tabby was purriug herself to sleep
at the feet Of Sue, while Tom had impu-
IDENTIFY composed himself in my lap.
IL was just such an evening in which
one loves to hear stories told, or read fairy
talcS.
Aunt Mile had promised US the day
before that she would tell us the story of
out cousin Madeline. That promise had
set the little heart of Belle all aglow with
delightsome curiosity, for though we had
heard Snatches of it before, aud knew that
il was a story OF sadness and of sorrow,
yet she was all inpatient to know and
hear it all.
.'Do tell US now" suddenly spoke up
Belle, as she unclasped her hands from
Aunt Miles knees and rested them on
her shoulder, alt is such u nice evening to
listen to stories"
eyes, now Aunt Millie," pleaded Sue,
while l too could not restrain my entrea-
ties.
Oft is q sad story, children" replied
Aunt Mile, while a softer light suffuscd
her face. at is a sad story, and | am al
most sorry that | promised to tell it to
you, Indeed | am sorry that it ever re-
cured 10 my mind again" And here
Aunt Mile shook her bead as if commu-
ming with herself, and dropping her voice,
she added,-"Poor Madaline whose fair
young life was withered, whose gentle
heart was crushed and broken, and she SO
young and SO fair, so beautiful and so
good. Ah, me, it is a woful story, and l
nm grieyed to recall it,"
The sorrowful agitation of Aunt Mil
lies only aggravated o u interests, and, al
three Mt once, We renewed our entreaties
''Do let US know I'll about Cousin Mad
aline, whom we all remember as being SO
beautiful" 20
ayes, that will do, darling" as she I'M
loosed Bellies arm from her neck, 81 will
tell you now"
And these are the precise words in which
she told us:
Aou aii NhOh yOui unCIe UaitOl Dah-
arige, and how fair his beautiful home
stood at LaVerge. That home is a ruin
now, wheresthe roses bloomed and the vio-
let's grew, the rank thorns and thistles now
have their roots, the green poison oak
3%tWincs around its blackened chimneys, and
its beauty is a waste. You would not
know that place to see it now. McCook',
Union soldiers did it. All, me, it seems
hard, but they say It was done for liberty.
IT may be- 90. And you say that you all
remember Madaline. All, we'll may you say
that, for one who had once seen her beau.
tifnl face could never cease to remember it.
. ii was ut the beginning of the war that
Madnline's beauty shone brightest. She
bad inst returned from Patapsco, where
she hads graduated with the highest hon.
ors. She had been absent for several years