The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1874-12-03
One of MANY.

am sitting by the open window and look
ing out upon the orchard, where the trees
stand laden with apple blooms. whose deli
cate perfume floats in this twilight air just
as it did four years ago tonight.
There is notEiDg changed about this old
place, as1 look upon it's picture now. There
stands the stone-curbed well, over which the
long sweep hangs. with its dangling bucket,
Undiscovered. and dipping water monoto-
nously, just as ever. There is CARLOS kennel
and Carlo himself is lying there, with his
nose upon his outstretched paws, and his
eyes closed lazily precisely thus he lay as
looked out OF this window four years ago
this hour. I can here Kate aud Bess and
Dick and Duke stamping with their iron
hoofs il the stables in the old red barn and
over the top Of the ST me tree, that bears the
golden sweets, peeps the wooden weather
cock or the roof Of the bay shed The doves
have been flying in and ont of their cotes
over the vide door. for the past hour and
the swallows, not yet gone to sleep, are
squeaking aud chattering in the caves over
head. There bangles the swing under the
oak. Yonder comes Phillip wLlstliDg up the
road. He has changed no more in these
four years than if he were an image, instead
of being, as he is, a middle-aged serving man.
Everything my eye rests on il just the same
just the same. l wish it were not. How
can the world 60 on so unchanged
1t seems as if had been dreaming, here by
the window in the sun of the warm Nav al
ternoon and had just awakened in the falling
twilight. Was it my wedding night this
night four years ago?
Yes. There, on the bed within this room
my boy Is sleeping. Here on my finger is my
wedding ring, and kiss it, and It is as cold
to my lips as his forehead was Here are my
widows mourning garments am twenty
Two. [ was eighteen when Frank drew me
to his heart, here in this very room, and
called me his darling, his brown-eyed bride.
Oh, how l loved him You la lies who i've
III cities, and whose lives are crowded with
events-wto have loved and unloved one
man after another-whose hearts were older
at eight cen than mine is this day, even after
all It's deep JOY and sorrow--you cannot know
how [ loved my husband
He was the only man ever loved, remem-
Der the 0aly one. Ny father was so stern
with me that him / never dared to love.
Ny mother died when was little, and nv
father kept me always under his eye, per
hitting me no such pleasures as those that
country glls generally have, and books were
my best companions. There were balls at
the tavern at the cross roads in the winter.
but never went to them. There were pi :
mic parties III the woods in summer. and
hueking bees n autumn, and other merry
makVngs Of which I sometimes heard, but
which never saw. Almost nv only knowl-
edge of life outside my home was gathered
from the glimpses 90. of the neighborng-
people on Sunday a. the little church where
all the farmers on Moreton Heights met to
worship. and still do. It was there T first
saw Frank-when was q little curly head.d
girl, and he was a blue-eyed boy fire vears
my senior. There ! saw all I ever saw Of
him, TIL was sixteen, and he was home for
the vacation. met him then, one after
noon as was coming home from a neighbors
house, and he walked along by my side.
loved him that hour with my whole soul 4
and during the swoy years following learned
to find my sweetest happine in hs.smIss
the thrilling touch Of his hand, the soft
words OF love be spoke to me and at last
70 sink in tie tremor of nnui terable happi !
ness upon his breast when he asked me to |
)e his wife.
Can you wonder, then, that the wedding
light on which he made me his was dazzling |