Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1877-01-04


Through the mists OF lifelong dreaming,
From where Golden streets are cleaning
Far beyond the skies.
To thee, darling, am going;.
Though dark waves are round me flowing,
Brighter than the stars are glowing
'' ' MAGGIE A. Co1SE.
ESTHER@S RING.
A Tale OF Salem Witchcraft.
From the Ladies Magazine.
Such queer old ring 1picked it
out of the old lacquered cabinet. where
Aunt Lucinda odds and ends of family
relics-mementO morris, antique trlnk-
cts, andsouvenirs of the past her past,
that seemed so very, very old for she
was my mothers aunt, not mine, were
slowed away in rows Of tiny drawers,
packed in soft Jewelers. cotton. and
smelling strong and sweet OF Tonka
beans. 1t was ring of old yellow
gold, curiously dressed with the jacinth
cut crescentwise, and set in tiny seed
pearls and the jewels and setting, rs
in many old rings, opened at the coax
ING of a finger and showed wee srace
for hair-whose Iasked Aunt Lucin-
da, but she was hurrying to shut up
the cabinet, and only said:
"Remind me to tell you about 1t III
the morning child,' for it was late.
and she wanted to send me off to bed.
..Can't l keep this, just to wear
while I'm here,--it's so prettey,-and
I'll take such good care of it, auntie!"
''Well, put it on said Aunt Lucin-
da ''and then run away, for it's past
IL o'clock. To think of you keeping me
up talking until this late hour -
So went away to bed, slipping the
narrow band of fretted, carven, crust
ed gold over my first finger, land watch
ing the rich. warm flake of light in the
heart of the jacinth-like Il drop OF
clear honey.
slept alone at Aunt Lucinda's in 4
queer old room. with an open fireplace
and brass andirons, and with 4 great,
high.posted bed, dark with lowered
chintz curtains, and high and almost
inaccessible mountain of feathers, into
which usually leaped with the aid of
a chair, when had blown the candle
out. always went to sleep drowsily
specializing upon the ancestral person.
age who had reposed in this old ark OF
bed, under that ancient red silk quilt;
and wondering if any of their forgot
ten dreams lurked around those flower
cd curtains, to creep into my brain
when sleep sets its gates ajar. l did
not dream, that night, at any rate !;
am sure of it, for had not slept 10
minutes by the old alabaster clock on
the mantelpiece, when l was awakened
by the pressure of hand.
It WIS not Aunt Lucinda's hand /;
even in sleep knew the difference of
the touch. They were young fingers
that slid tenderly over mine--soft,
round tips, that left damp chill upon
my flesh where they crept along. AS
my senses awoke gradually felt these
fingers working at the rings on my left
hand, and felt a cold breath on my
forehead like little puff of night air.
I tried to strike away the hand, but it
fastened clingingly on mine, and a
moaning voice said, passionately, and
yet piteously, like hurt child:
"Let me have it--let me have it =
"Who are you? Where are you
What is it!' l gasped, struggling to
sit upright in the deep throug of the
feather.bed. 'Aunt Lucinda!
The dark, still folds of the curtain
wavered and moved. the streak of light
between them widened, and then they
were pushed quite apart. Then l saw
the moon shining on the floor, and the
fire dying on the hearth between the
brass and irons, and figure standing
by the bed, -standing right in the
arch made by the parted curtains.
1t was woman, and saw her Just
as plainly as l see at this moment the
words written by the pen in my hand.
l could tell you every item of the dress
she wore, even to the edging of lace
on the tight sleeves that reached her
elbows, and the little blue damask
figure on her gray gown. Her face
was very pale and quiet, and
there was no light in her eyes; they
we're heavy and dark, and the lids were
Redeemed as if with crying and waking;
but she was beautiful for all that
beautiful as some old dim picture with
a story to it. There she stood, with
her face and neck cleaning dull.white,
like old marble, above the gray gown,
and one look of her black hair twisted
round her throat, like eoft necklace,
and her little damp, COLI hand lying
on mino. and her lips moved yet, as if
she were saying over again:
''Let me have it -
"Wh0 are you p cried, trembling
and hardly breathing. "What do you
want p
MY ring-mine and Rogers. No
T III
don't you see the blood Oh it p
Aunt Lucinda's ring! There was NO
stain on it when she took it out of the
old c;,sket but saw it now in the
m0onlight,-a dash of ugly red among
the crusted carvings. tore it off my
finger, and flung it away as if it were a
coal of fire.
"Who are you 2" 1 cried once more.
And the answer came softly and slow,
like sign:
esther ChillingwOrth." ,-,.
started up at her breathlessly.
''LoOk at me,'' she murmurcd.
''This is the face that Roger Vane
loved nigh 200 years ago this is the
hand that wore his ring,-that sent it
back TO him from Salem Jail when he
cared no longer to remember he slip.
ped it on with kisses. They say l was
very fair to see in those days. Look
ut me. Am comedy now -
She swept back her long hair from
her face, but without displacing the
lock that curlcd like snake around
her throat; and then, as looked 1T
her, she broke into low wailing cry !:
II had the fairest face in Salem
old Chillingworth's daughter. The
grass withereth, the flower fadeth.
The parson used to tell me it was but
a vain show, and l laughed him to
scorn. Far in tho woods beyond So.
lem, when I was picking May.howers,
and rustling aside the brown leaves to
find their pink and white clustered
stars, l met Roger vane, and he told
me a sweeter tale than the preacher
knew. And let him kiss my mouth.
for he called it most sweet-yea, alto
gether lovely,'-sweeter than the
breath of May flowers. O the Salem