Litchfield enquirer., 1876-03-23
From Hsspsrs lftgazine. THE LASTa DAY8 OF R0vALtT YrlM ffTcS NEW HAM PSHsRG.

&s@&zt HesA AAk MI sNs@ f7's NEW HArHP SHIRE. &
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 On a pleasant May afternoon, 'mors than century ago, pretty Frances Went worth sat reading letter in room Il Wentworth Hall. The apartment wal grand with all the magniicence of tht time. The woodwork was of oak exqui sitely carved by hands, the walls wert richly tapestried. the centre of the oakeI floor was covered with square Turkish rug The remaining furniture was tn. i fashionable furniture of the day-as stiff ! as clumsy, as uncomfortable as can vel | be imagined. al
 In one of these chairs sat the young girl, simply attired in white. An expres sion Of unqualified delight fippled witl smiles her beautiful mouth. The picture is exquisite in it's repose and perfect har mony, and finger over it lovingly. A soft breeze stirred the tender foliage o1 1 the elms, end the checker of sunlight and shadow lying upon her form and beyond it on the floor shifted in response. The same zephyr bore through the open win dow the heavy fragranee of unseen hlacs. Far beyond Tn the slanting afternoon light glistened the waves of the Piscataqua and the sea while the Isles of Shoals lay a faint blue line Tn the horizon. 4
 1t was the spring g-time of the year and the spring-time of the heart. The subtle underlying thought that makes spring fail with a beauty above and beyond it's actual tangible beauty-the thought of bleak winter left behind, and of. coming summer, with it's wealth and fruition-had it's coun- terpart in the thought of what might lie in the young girls future. She was young and beautiful, and the pet of a large, wealthy, and influential family. held in no mean estimation at the English court, What were her thoughts as she sat read ing this letter? 3
 "My DEAR CoUsHN, ,-I am loath to send you this et- ter you know should much prefer to come nyseh. My father has guests heve from Ispwich, and am needed n the computing house. They will return to morrcw morning, and to- o-morrow night shall have the honor of assisting in the celebration of my uncs birthday, and the sweet pleasure of meeting again ny dear cousin. My dear uncle and all kind friends at Wentworth Hall will accept my most cordial and at- tached salutatlons. H5
 .'Your very afectionate cousin,
 "J. WENTwoTH." To ordinary eyes, 1t was only a simple note of extremely slight consequence; to Frances Wentworth, every word bore a hidden and precious meaning. She had read it till she knew it by heart, and yet it still lay open before her, and her pleased eyes rested on it's ''you know should much prefer to come myself,' and its ''s~eet pleasure of meeting again my dear cousin, with joy that did not pail. By and-by she raised her eyes from the letter and tuned them toward the lawn, where, here and there upon the rich greenward, ; the sunlight lay in warm golden bars. Was she dreaming of future glory, and was 1t that that made her eyes bright with sudden glory? And was there any thing prophetic in the regret that burden- ed them with tears as her gaze wandered farther and farther aN ay until it rested on the hazy Isles of Shoals? .1
 It was the anniyersity of the Governors birthday. Men out at sea deserted the glow of the windows of Wentworth Hall. and knew that some stately merry making was going on within it walls. The soft stars shone above it, the warm south wind scarcely stirred the branches of the trees which surrounded it. Within, the grand room glowed with the light of costly wax en tapers. The walls V ere adorned with garlands of common flowers, while in cost ly antique vases were rare and brilliant exotics. In the tiled fire. places were green boughs and branches of towering shurbs. The aristocracy and beauty and wealth of Portsmouth were assembled there.
 The feet that danced the stately figures that night, the lips that framed courteous salutation and witty repartee, the eyes that behold so much elegance and beauty, have returned long since to the dust from which they sprang; but the descendants of those old famous families still walk the quiet streets of the aristocratic town, and their willing lips repe't many tradition of it's old-time grandeur
 Among the guests assembled that night at Wentworth Hall there was two with whom my sketch has most to deal-John, son of Mark Wentworth, of Plymouth, and his cousin Frances, daughter of Samu- el Wentworth, of Boston. She was still schoolgirl; he was many years her senior, and abont to leave this country for Eng land. He was the son of a merchant, and had been bred in the mercantile business, but he was also scholar, being a grad uate of Harvard. His manners were x- tre1nely graceful and elegant, and bore the impress of truth, for they sprang from good heart. His gentle and easy address was all the more charming in that it did not conceal an effeminate nature. Like the grass which covered the granite of his native hills, his affability was graceful covering of his Wentworth pride and firm ness. His cousin Frances did not endesv- or to conceal her admiration for him. That would have been difficult matter, for her nature was frank.
 You show your fondness for your cousin little too plainly, Frances" said an intimate friend of the family, as MT. Wentworth made the former his bow at the close of dance, and went to pay his deUOirs elsewhere
 Well, fondness Is a more amiable qual- ity than jeaulous, Miss Elizabeth, retort- ed Frances, coolly. Besides, one may be fond of ones cousin, l suppose, and, as near as l can judge, the affection is mutual, and that, believe. isn't always the case"
 Miss Elizabeth understood, and blushed uncomfortably. $, a..a.
 'You are very impertinent child, as we'll as spoiled one, Frances, and 'tis a great pity that some elderly lady, couldn't have the charge of you for the next few years. If you continue to have your oRn way until you are eighteen, nobody will love you." ezf nj l..
 Hadn't you better apply for the situa- tion? Perhaps you could teach me, from experience, how hearts are won. I think my cousin is the most elgeant man in the room, and know you think so.too, and 'tis pity he should have asked me three times to dance, and you not once. Next time I'll refuse him, and tell him the req son.' s s.e.ssf--,.. ! ..t
 Are you sure he'll invite you again ?'' asked Miss Elizabeth, sweetly, while her eyes sparkled with venom.
 ''Can you doubt the evidence of your senses?" returned Francet, with exaspera- ting saOach0laace, as she saw the object of their little tilt approaching.
 r Mir. Wentworth offered Frances his arm and they went toward she outer hall to gether. 5.{ t@a uaff f.-s4.
 Twill you get your shawl and come out 1 on the iawn?" he asked. r.tA number oi persons are there; we shall not be alone. T And what If we were 2 asked Frances.