The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1875-10-28
The End Of a June Day.

Dying That was the pathetic verdict
of the face resting in dreamful quiet on
low sofa in the library between the
windows that looked towards the sea at
Vallambrosa, the stately heritage and
home of stately gentleman, Paul Gra-
ham. The truth was bitter and palpable
even to him-the man who had battled
with death for the young life so long
who loved her, his fragile, gifted wife,
with supreme unspeakable tenderness,
and to whom the consciousness that she
must die came now weighted with an
anguish too deep for any words or fall of
tears, and 80 he sat by her side with the
| little cold hands gathered in bis strong
clasp, silently waiting for the end Out
side, the sunshine lay warm and bright
on the the terrace slopes the brooding
peace of a summer day filed the vast
grounds in the distance; the smile oi
sea, the white glory of blossoming mead
ows, and the0beryl gloom of " oodlands-
a landscape that the artist eye, so soon
to close, dwelt on wistfully, the sadness
of great regret in the gaze-the regret
of an eternal farewell.
'Paul," the young wife said, with 6
sudden Frightening of the sensitive
thoughtful face, Il have had my wish, =
l have lived to be happy year. Ant
yesterday. while you were away, faish
ed the last chapter of my book; my
ork is all ended"
"And now p he questioned, in grav,
tenderness
81 only hope," she answered, with I
glance of wistful meaning, "that ther
are some lives in the great world, which
has praised me SO much, who have beer
lifted, through my agency, out of tn
. grossnees of absolute materialism. If
have learned one to aspire, should b.
satisfied; if have awakened in any
yearning for higher life, am content.
The WEAKNESS of that which was com
ing to her was in her voice, but tn
powerful intellect still held the soVel
eighty of Its sway in the frail form, an
the beautiful heroism which had distir
guished her through all her youth di
not desert her now.
Hope" be said, replying softly i
q the stiffness, "what you have been
: others, the world has told you 10 its al
plause to me"-He hesitated, and bend
> ing forward, took fnllblown white ros
from a vase that stood on the low windo
sill, and placing it within the palm {
the transparent hand he held, he wei
on speaking, oh how tenderly: "A
fair IN soul as it is in blossoms pc
feet, and pure, and fragrant, your Ii
I has been in my home"
! This great appreciation Of great ns
ture had always been sweeter than an,
thing else in the world to this woman
warm, poetic temperament; and eve
now she thanked him with smile
such deep meaning that he turned sway
i. It was almost q torture that he could n
bear, to know..what she was to him. ar
= to see her die. She saw his pain, and {
. if to divert the channel of Els thought
asked quietly:
Have you telegraphed for Philip al
Floyd?"
"Yes; they will be here on the fol
o'clock train Is there any one else p
No; none thar l desire to see nov
You know they made my world until
, found you-'
/! And after that the silence was LOT
between them. But what need "
there for words ? Those marvelo
brown pathetic eyes had read his so
like an open book, and though be ma
ne allusion to it. she felt that the grea
ness Of his suffering was not lees thl