Orangeburg times. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1872-1875, 1874-05-14
BEN BOLT AND SWEET ALICE.
BY AMANDA MINNIE DOUGLASS.

On, dontyou rem cmber sweet Alice, Ben Bolt,
Sweet Alice, whose hair was go brown
Who blushed with delight when you gave her
asmilc,
And trembled with fear ut your frown?
lii the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Doit,
In n corner secluded and lone, ti
They have fitted slab of granite, so gray,
And sweet Alice lies under the stone. .-ENGLIsH.
Don'tyou remember? Are those three
magic words-a key herewith we may
unlock the aood-gates of her heart, and
send the sweet waters of the past over the
plains and down the hills of the fair land
known in our hearts experience as by
gone? Even 80. There rises before us
visions of a time when the bright, deep
eyes of the young spring gazed shily at,
us from beneath the ermined mantle of
winter-when the blue violets stole their
first tints from the blue sky above; when
the cowslips of May, and the golden
hearted buttcrcups first jeweled the slen
der blades of grass; and the hawthorn
grew white with its blossoms; when we
roamcd the woods the whole of that long,
warm, June holiday, weaving garlands
and listening to the concert of birds in
that dark, mistletoe- e-wreafhed oaken for
est. There was one in years agonc that
prayed-'Lord keep my memory green"
and the clinging tendrils of our hearts
are ycarningy to this prayer.
But green and fresh as the poets
prayer, had the heart of Ben Bolt been
kept-from his early boyhood to the hour
he sat by lis old friend. and listened to
the song of by-gone days. Not through
a glass, darkly," did he review those
scene ofthe past, but it was the going
back of the boy-hcart to other hearts of
childhood.
There was n little red school house with
its dusty windows, and desks that had
been knicked many u time, trying PEN
knives its tall stern looking tcaclicr,
whose heavy voice caused the younger
ones to trcmble; its rows of boys and girls
with their heads bent attentiveiy down
ward to their books and states. The
winter wind sang and whistled without,
and though some few childish hearts tried
to find words for its mourntul notes they
were too young and happy to know that
it carried desolation and hcart.ace III its
wall; yet did they learn it in after davsa
Then there came Il few light, round
snow-balls, SO tiny that it must haze been
the sport of the storm spirits in the cld-
rich rcvels, changing by and by to
feather fakes, that danced about ever so
gaily. How the children's eyes grew
bright as they looked at one anothcr,and
thought Of the merry rides down hill, and
the snow-balling that would make the
play ground ring again. The last lessons
were said, books put aside, and in place
of the silence reigned gay, glad voices.
Kate Ashley threw back her jetty ring
lets, and laughed through her sparkling
eyes, as she gave Jamie Marvin that bit
Of curl lie had tcascd for so long, be-
cause she knew that Jamie had the pfet-
ticst sled i'll the whole school. All, bit
Ola coquette was that same gleeful,
romping Kate; and there was Sophie
Dale, looking as dcmure as kitten walk
ing from pan Of new milk, and PLAYFUL
as kitten t. o, was she, in spite of her
quiet looks; and the stately Elizabeth
Queen Bcss they call her, and l question
if England's Queen had hautier car
riagc; but apart from those who were
eagerly look for friends to take them
home-stood Alice May-swcct Alice.-
Very beautiful and lovablc was she, with
her winsomc, childish face, blue eyes, and
soft, brown curls.-She was delicate and
fragile, you might almost fancy her a
little snow child, or lost fairy babe.
Nearly all the children had departed,
amid the joyful shouts and jingling bells,
but yet the sweet little child alone, until
rich boyish voice, startled her by say
ing:
"No one goes your way, Alice, do
they?'
"No, | guess. not, Ben" she replied,
i'll her fine snow-bird like tones.
"Wcll, the snow is too deep for you to
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