Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1873-10-23
RUTH WHITEFIELD.
A HEART-HISTORY,
BY GEORGE CANNING HILL.

DeHcdlil WllCH w nlidiil l'tiV'oi q II
pointed their last meeting.
She approached it with sorrow
full heart. Tears were swimming il
her blue eyes, and when she dimly
was through them the old tree, aroun(
which were gatherered so many dea
memories, they broke from her lids
and fell to the ground at her feet
He was not yet there, and she ha(
half a mind to turn back again; sht
was so undecided, and her heart wa'
full of swelling grief. Scarcely know
ing why, she pushed on however, tc
the foot of the huge tree, and seated
herself upon one of its gnarled an(
twisted roots.
Her bonnet was in her hand, ant
the profuse wealth of her auburn hail
showercd in golden curls over hel
neck and shoulders, while the setting
sun braided up her unbound locks il
bands of matchless beauty. A pecu
liar glory seemed to have settled up
on her head; while her large and lus
trous eyes beamed with subdued
LIGHT that could not have been alto
gether earthly.
She strained her gaze, now up and
now down the road, but as yet deserted
no one approaching. 1t was lonely
spot, where intruding feet would be
but little likely to come. At this houl
of sunset, too the influences about il
were all sombre and sad. And they
stole into the heart of gentle Ruth
like long shadows, not altogether
dark, yet but slightly illumined witt
the brightness of her own thoughts
They drew her dreaming eyes to the
earth, and she began to run over in
her mind the past days, the colder
clusters of hopes, the generous prom
ises, and the boundless prospects
All were of happiness, and the love
and truth.
A rustling in the direction Of the
bushes awakened her from her revery
She looked up, and saw her lover
standing beside l:er.
At first she could scarcely speak
for her deep emotion. She was look
ing upon the face of him who was tt
her dearer than all others, for the last
time in many years. No one would
be left her to whom she could confidt
her secret thoughts when he was gone
All sympathies would be turned into
stone, when his warm sympathies
were withdrawn. Poor Ruth! Little
was the wonder that her feelings over
whelmed her.
William Britton was but poor
bov, the son of a hard and unfeeline
father. Farm work was what he
thought he had enough Of His
dreams led him along to higher points
until in reality he almost touched the
gilded pinnacles his ambition had erec
ted. He was tried of what he deemed
a life of drudgery. His father sough
not to interest him in his labor, anC
never thought of the policy or necess
ity ofsuch a thing as holding out prom
Use. He was tried of what he deem
ed life Of drudgery. He said that the
law itself allowed him his sons labol
until he had passed his minority, ant
then he had no more to do with him
And this is the reasoning, cold an(
unfeeling as it is, of many and many ;
father everywhere around us.
The youth stood beneath the twist
ed old beech tree, RUNAWAY. His
bundle of clothes was slung upon {
stick over his shoulder and he was
fully equipped for his journey. He
wore a pair of stout boots upon hi'
feet, that looked as if they must out
last even the stern stuff of which hi
heart, at that moment, seemed made
Yet there was a hesitation in his man
ner, and want of decisiveness in his
words, when he attempted to speak
that betrayed Immediately the trouble
that was gathering thickly about hi
heart. He wanted to appear
manly, and it was impossible for hin
to act out the deceit. His eyes fell tt
the ground; his lips quivered; he sa
down beside Ruth, and took her han(
in his own.
1t was some moments before eithe
of them could speak. Choking sen
sations obstructed their utterance
Aud when at length words came, the!
were spoken in low and melanchol!
! tones keeping strange and musica