Juniata sentinel. [volume] (Mifflintown, Pa.) 1846-1873, 1873-08-27
Miscellany.
nv RANDI MOTH ER'S
LEGACY.

open hem again, o, no it is a bright
reality. The elose-cut grass stretching
out frln my window, down to the over
grown plantation, is the same across
which hny ancestors tripped in their
high-ieeled shoes, before the red tide
of the revolution swept them away.
The o1 stone fountain, with its broken
Triton and mouldring dolphins, then
threw It's silver spray far into the sunny
air; now, a few slow drops trickle
amongthe moses that fringe its edge.
Have you ever lived where there was
not something that reminded you OF
the ded? There is the chair in which
they were sitting, long years before
was bonn. Yonder is the couch where
they we've lying when death opened for
them the door of life. Their eyes saw
what l am seeing their ears heard the
song ofthe birds, as L hear them now.
The blue periwinkle stars in the glass
on my table, gathered them this morn
ing under She oaks in the plantation
and so, hands that have been dust for
ages gathered them on some sweet
spring morning in the past.
fam sitting in the little, dark -paneled
room where, one sunny morning, my
grandmother sat with her child in her
arms, when a courier arrived, painting,
breathless; The Queen is guillotined y
There was no more hope; my grand
mother must fly. Clasping her babe to
her hear, she arose; horses were
saddled a rapid flight to the coast a
fearful meeting with her husband, dis
guised as fisherman /; trembling haste;
u crazy boat on the stormy sea; land
ing on the shore of Scotland-poor,
friendless, with aching hearts. Such
was the story had often heard from
my grandnother's lips.
Left an orphan IN my babyhood. she
was father, mother, all to me. Hour
after hour lhave sat at her feet, listening
to her tale of "beautiful France"-ot
the gay court, the beautiful Queen, the
old chateal, where her happiest days
we're spent "You were not born there,
pauvre petite" she would say, softly.
"Ah thatwas wrong but you may die
there-I think you will. You will be
thankful fG that, Mignon ?" And hel
eyes wouldwander over the bleak Scotch
moors, sedng beyond them the blue
sky and fbwery fields OF her sunny
France. Ioes she know that her half
prophecy has been in part fulfilled
Does she know that at last my feet
tread the gnss-grown paths in the quaint
old gardent-that for me the birds sing,
and the trees shake out their tender
leaves? A new generation of leaves,
but still tie same her eyes saw and
loved. Thare is little changed. A
friend remembered us: the estates were
saved, and Inherited them. Not much
money; but the gray walls, the trees,
the fields. are mine. look around
say, my own" Does she know all
this? | beliVe she does. Her picture
remember lENyith silvery hair shading
her delicGIe, hi9hborn face, but young,
with laughing eyes, and ripe lips Just
parted in lgJJus smile.
In the long salon beyond are rows OF
naughty faces, blooming faces, stern,
wicked, sanity faces. One after another
they lifted the burden of life, bore it a
while, then laying it down, crept away
to their long, dreamless sleep, under
the stones in the little chapel. Now
there is only one weak woman's hand
to lift the banner of the name they bore
so long and nobiy. Stretch out your
shadowy hands, that its folds trail not
IN the dust Strengthen me, shades OF
the dead, that bear it not unworthily
The air is still with that stiffness that
speaks of life, not death. Somewhere
III the distance, Jean is drawing water.
The creaking of the wheel becomes
musical through faintness. In the farm
yard the busy hens are cackling, and
one loud-voiced cock is Growing Justify.
Lisette is Gathering about her kitchen,
singing a plaintive little song; the
chorus reaches me-"Marie Marie
je vous aime toujours." l am idly
wondering who was Marie and did the
singer love her always" 2"
Presently Lisette's heels click along
the hall. "Madamoiselle's keys" she
says, with flash of her white teeth.
Jean has found them among the peri
winkle stars. | take them from her
hand. One, smaller than the rest, has
slipped off the ring. A little leather
box, clasped with iron, stands before
me on the window seat. A few days
before her death, my grandmother gave
it into NY keeping. Take it, mon
enfant 1t contains the hfe-secrets oi
many of your race. There are stories,
too, from other lips, as they were told
to me. You may like to read them.
You will keep it for my sake" My
life has been busy one, and / have
never opened it, Now, as / fit the key
into the rusty lock, and raise the lid, a
cloud of dust salutes me, and a musty,
mouldy smell. The papersare mildewed
with age; the characters almost illegible.
One is tied witha black ribbon choos-
ing this, I unrsll the closely written
sheets. One falls out; it is in my
grandmother clear, firm hand. All
how long ago vas that written? The
date is IL.
"a strange thing has occurred. l
was lll-very Ia year ago. Dear
Henri begged the Moorish physician
$50 he is calledyto see me He came,
tall and grave. / was frightened. He
was gentle to ne, and l grew to like
him. He is alAys among the poor /;
he Will receive nothlng IRON any one.
Henri offered hhn money; he refused.
[ gave him my hand he touched it
with his lips. 10 one knows whence
he comes, or VIII, he is. The poor bless
his name. Henever smiles. L was
sure he had som great sorrow.
"One day a ban came to me, and
handed me lettir:
81 am i'll. WI you Gomez"
81 went with fenri The room was
hung with blacl. The physician was
by window, boxing out upon the
court; it was full of Ieople-poor, and
MANY weeping. He stretched out his
hand and smiled 81 lavesent for you,
madame, to say FAREWELL and to ask
your husband to procure passports for
NV seryant-he il Ito take ne home"
s.Not now ?" / ,ried; yoi are ill. !"
"No. not now, be sad tomorrow.
81 had flowers Dr. him, rses, delicate
fuchias, and pureshite lilies. He took
them eagerly, ini ialed tlsir perfume,
fondled them, andtold nj the legends
of their birth.
.srbiu is NV fouer- lie said, lifting