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


I am sitting by the open window and
| looking out upon the orchard, where
' the trees stand laden with apple
blooms, whose delicate perfume floats
in this twilight air just as it did four
years ago tonight.
There is nothing changed about this
old place, as I look upon its picture
now. There stands the stone-curbed
well, over which the long sweep hangs,
with it's dangling bucket, covered
and dipping water monotonously, 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 Hooked out of this window four
years ago this hour. I can hear Kate
and Bess and Dick and Duke stamping
with their iron hoofs in the stables in
the old red barn; and over the TOD Of
the same tree that bears the golden
sweets, peeps the wooden weather cock
on the roof of the hay-shed The doves
have been flying in and out of their
cotes over the wide door, for the past
hour and the swallows, not yet gone
to sleep, are squeaking and chattering
IN the ewes overhead. There bangles
the swing under the oak. Yonder
comes Philip whistling up the road.
He has changed no more in these four
years than If he were an image, instead
OF being, as he is, middle-aged serving
man. Everything my eye rests on is
Just the same Just the same. Iwish
1t were not How can the world 90 on
so unchanged?
1t seems as if I had been dreaming.
here by the window in the sun of the
warm May afternoon, and had lust
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 nv
finger is my wedding-ring, and kiss it.
and it is as cold to my lips as his fore,
head 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 loved him You Ia.
dies who live in cities, and whose lives
are crowded with events-who have
loved and unloved one man after an
other-whose hearts were older at
eighteen than mine is this day. even
after al! Its deep JOY and sorrow-you
cannot know how L loved my husband.
He was the only man I ever loved
remember, the only one. MY father
was SO stern with me that him I never
dared to love. MY mother died when I
was little, and my father kept me al
ways under his eye, permitting me no
SUCH pleasures as those that country
girls generally have, and books were
my pest companions. There were balls
at the tavern at the cross roads in the
winter, but [ never went to them
There were picnic parties in the sum.
mer, and husking-bees in autumn, and
other merry-makings of which I some
times heard, but which I never saw.
Almost my only knowledge of life out
SIDE nay home was gathered from
the glimpses L got Of the neighbor-peo-
pie on Sunday at the little church
where all the farmers on Morton
Heights met to worship, and still do.
1t was there first saw Frank,-when T
was q little curly-headed girl, and he
was blue-eyed boy, five years nv
senior. There saw all [ ever saw Of
nm, till l. was sixteen, and he was home
for the vacation. met him then. one
afternoon as was coming home from
a neighbours house, and he walked
along by my side. I loved him that
hour with my whole soul and during
the two years following [ learned to
lind my sweetest happiness in his smile.
the thrilling touch of his hand, the soft
words OF love he spoke to me and at
last to sink in the tremor of unuttera-
BILE happiness upon his breast when he
asked me 10 be his wife.
Can you wonder, then, that the we'd
ding night on which he made me his
was dazzling in its brilliancy to my
eyes? was almost intoxicated with
the novelty and Joy of that scene. The
great room OF Squire Morton's house
were like those of palace compared to
the humber home where L had been
reared, and it was there we were mar
r1ed, for Frank wished it so. The
,crowding guests, the cleaning lights,
the marriage ceremony, the congratula-
tions, the whispered JOY of my husband
as he BENT over me, and the odor of the
apple blossoms peryading all, seemed
like beauftiful dream then-seems like
a. dream now, with the orchards per
fume alone remaining.
Do you believe me exagerating when
[ say that I would have yielded up my
own life unmurmuringly for my hus-
bands sake? IF you do, it only shows
that you have no conception of love
like that / bore for Frank. Tt was