The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1877-05-31


discover Mollie to be rather cool and alb
sent in manner, however, and took his
departure earlier than usual.
Then Mollie sat on the doorsteps in
the moonlight till 10 o'clock, In spite OF
her mothers remonstrances, that she
would Certainly take cold out there ip
the damp" Mollie felt as ifeshe had
"taker cold" already, cold whose shrfd-
dering chill had benumbed forever the
whole warmth and hope of herlife. Not
till long after it was manifestly, absurd TO
expect Dick, did she 60 reluctantly PIP
stairs, to toss and turn FOR the first time
not the last, alas-in fevered wakefulness
through the watches of the night-to en-
tertai1 grim spectres of doubt aud sorrow,
in place of the airy visions wontto glori
fy herimaginings. q I
FIVE years have passed. Mrs. Brown.
ing makes her Aurora Leigh say:
Ten layers of birthdays on a woman head
Must somewhat fossilise her girliah mirth.
Andfmake her wiser; and that. perforee,
means sadder.
What have five done for Mollie3 She
is sitting by window, a book dropped
in her lap, her head leaning on her hand,
looking out with wide open, unseeing
eyes; that betoken their owner is far
away from present scenes. The room
where she sits is evidently not in the old
farm.house. It is yery high, very mar
row, the unpapered walls very white and
hard, with much the air of a neat prison
cell, but for two or three pictures, and g
few knick-knacks scattered about, that
take off something of the rigid, convent
like look, and impart touch of individ.
uality to the surroundings. Through
the window, which is big gh up in the
fourth story, are seen, first, few brick
houses with square little back yards, then
wide expanse of green meadow. In
the distance, broad beautiful river, up
and down which white:sailed ships are
always gliding. It is that noble stream,
the Delaware. The view is lovely, but,
to the New Englander, not perfect. His
eyes turn involuntarily to the low hori.
zon where the sky stoops down to meet
the level land, and he yearns, not with
out slight pang of inconsistencies, fol
the irregular, picturesque line of noun.
tain tops, behind which, cat home," the
sun goes down. =
This is Wilmington, and Mollie is es-
tablished here as Miss Mary s. Brown,
assistant teacher in the Minerva Inst'
tute for Young; Iadies-n These five
years have brought many changes to her
as years are wont TO do. So many thing.
she never thought possible have entered
into her life. Sorrow and she are nc
longer strangers. Two years after Dick
went West she lost her mother. Mollie
had never realized that her mother. could
die. She knew death comes to all, but
she always regarded it as far-of calami'
ty. She was wholly unprepared for the
time when the willing feet, the helping
hands, should lie weak and helpless
waited on by others, at last, for the
darkened room, the softened footsteps
the hoping when the heart knows toe
we'll all hope is in vain; the listening
with no power to help, to the feeble
gasping breath, and the awful silence
the solemn, rigid whiteness of the deal
face that had never refused to smile on
her before.
Then there was funeral. People
said Rev. Mr.. Thomas e1celled himself:
that it was a powerful discourse. Per
haps it was. Mollie was only conscious
of q throng of people crowding into the
privacy of her home, staring at the face
which was alike Indifferent to friend o.
stranger; of q dreary pomp and parade,
of long flow of words that did not pene.
trate her grief.bewildered senses, Of The
going out for the last time over the famil.
lar threshold. Life never looks quite
the same again after such experiences o.
this. 4~ =
Then came the unwonted burden o1
household responsibility, the trying "a
make the darkened home! cheerful fol
fathers sake. But, s;is often the case
with "a couple who have climbed the
hill together" when one is taken, the
other soon follows, and they "sleep to
gether at the foot" At twenty.three
Mollie found herself alone in the!sworld,
with very little money ina world: where
one might almost think ii the one thing
needful. Squire Brown was too easy
and good natured, too willing to sign q
friends note, to leave much property;
After. sojourning with various relatives
until tired of dependence, she had OBJ.
tanned this situation in the Minerva In.
stitute." She has known the various ex-
periences expressed by the poet:
"What households, though not alien, YET
not mine,
What bowers of rest divine:
To what temptations in lone wildernesses
What famine of the heart, what pain and
The bearing of what cross!"
This little room in the fourth story Of
minerva Institute" is the truest "bowel
of restn she has found, because it is hel
own. Here she escapes the miseries OF
dependence; here, for little while each
day, at least, she is her own mistress, free
to think her own thoughts, to live hel
own life. These hard years have marked
one or two faint lines across her forehead,
have sunken slightly the rounded con-
tour of her cheek, have given rather 9
a sad droop to her mouth, when at rest,
as now. And yet it is an attractive face,
a face with character in il. Her express
ion now is not confident, eager, expect
ant; it is peaceful, and yet bright and
strong. 1t is the face one would like in
their friend, their wife. - '.i
As she sits here, she is thinking of a
talk she and Elinor had, only last vaca.
ton. Her vacations are generally spent
in Chicago, with Elinor. One night
when John, Senior, was safely down q.
the store (for even the best of husbands
may be dispensed with sometimes,) and
John, Junior, was snugly tucked away 10
his crib, sitting in that twilight 30 CON
duciye to condolences, they had been dis.
cpursing variety of topics, and finally,
matrimOny. In fact, this was a topic
pretty sure to come up between Elinol
and any unmarried friend. She was &c
81 IL u.