Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1880-04-07
The Easter Lily and the Daisy Petal.

1t was quaint English town, remarkable
for little save its antiquity and the ruins OF
feudal castle, to gaze upon whose crum.
bling walls strangers occasionally climbed
the steep road, at the near summit of which
the ancient structure stood.
Through the center of the town ran the
High street, where were congregated the diff
ferent shops, which supplied the manifold
needs of the main body of the townspeople,
with the small exception of the favored
few whose means allowed them occasional
journeys to London, whence they returned
with the increased dignity and Importance
which always follow the possession of the
latest styles in bonnets and gowns; which
styles were so soon copied and displayed in
the modest show windows of the High street
milliners that another journey to London
became an imperative necessity.
At the farther end of the High street
stood gray stone church of ancient archi-
lecture, nearly covered by luxuriant growth
of English ivy, which softened all angles,
and gave yet more graceful curve to the
rounded arches of the windows, where,
through the waving leaves, the sunlight
sifted into the church like golden rain.
Climbing still higher the ivy nearly reached
the square tower in which were hung the
sweet-voiced chimes, the pride of the parish.
Standing at the church door, looking away
from the town, there lay the stretch of fair
English landscape, lovely now in the first
flush of the early springtime, which, though
held somewhat in allegiance by the chilling
winds which came from their hiding places
during the last of March, was yet apparent
in the tiny buds scattered along the branches
of garden shrubs, and the fragrant blue and
white violets, which revealed themselves to
delighted searching eyes, in warm and sunny
hooks.
Toward the west were the glittering
curves of the railroad, at whose extreme
terminus lay London Many a country
youth had stood at the door of the old church
and dreamed of the time when he should
leave behind him his happy rural home, and
journeying over this road reach the great
city to which it led-the enchanted place
which was to yield him the full fruition of
all his desires, and when the MONDAY bril-
liancy of his career should astonish all be-
holders. Such were his dreams; but, alas
usually he awakened-the common fate of
| all dreamers He reached, perhaps, the en-
chanted palace, but at his open sesame the
magic doors did not spring open.
| A stones throw from the church stood
the rectory, substantial stone structure
surrounded by courtyard divided by neat
| gravel walks into irregular beds which in
summer were abaze with brilliant-hued
| flowers. At the left of the building there
had lately been erected small conservatory,
the windows of which were now open to
admit the mild air. Through them could
be seen the waving fronds of the tall ferns,
and the cleaning whteness of the Annun-
citation lilies, with which the rector delighted
to ornament the chancel of the church on
Easter Sunday, which now was but one day
distant
Harold Leigh, the rector of the parish of
Arlington, was man of perhaps thirty
five. Tall, dignifed he was in all respects
the type of cultivated gentleman. Kind
and courteous to all who approached him,
he yet was fearless in his denunciation of
all evil, and in his upholding of all which
seemed to him to be Just and right. Gradu-
| ating at Oxford, he had received the living
of Arlington, where he had now resided for
some years. growing steadily in usefulness,
and gaining every day stronger hold
upon the hearts of his parishioners. His
mother, who had been for all these years the
sole mistress of the rectory, was known
through all the town as the helper of all the
helpless, and the comforter of all the af-
flicted, and her place in the affections of the
people was second only to that of the rector
| himself
Harold Leigh had never married. De-
spite the smiles lavished upon him by the
maidens of Arlington, he had remained
heart-free. Until within few months,
she who was to be to him the /" one woman
in all the world " had been hidden and un-
known, and even now he was not sure he
had found her. He was thinking about it
! this afternoon as he sat by his study win.
dow, watching the glory of the Easter lilies
as they cleaned against the dark interior
of the conservatory She was something
akin TO the lilies, he thought, tall, fair and
graceful as they, with her aureole of yellow
hair, aud her pure sweet face. All this he
| acknowledged; the problem he was endeav-
oring to solve was this,-did he love Edythe
Allen with the love which a man gives to
but one woman, should he ask her to be-
come his wife? 1t was now eight months,
since, in compliance with the dying request
of her mother, she had come to make her
home with Mrs. Leigh, that mothers dear
est friend, and to Harold Leigh these months
had been exceedingly happy ones. Between
himself and Edythe Allen there had come
to exist an affectonate friendship which
had become very dear TO each of them. OF
late there had come to Harold the conscious
ness that he was rapidly approaching the
boundary line which lies between friendship
and love. How it was with Edythe he could
not tell, lie sat there by the window until
the last rays of the setting sun glinted
across the line of gold threading the cornice
of the room, and threw its last CLEAN of
glory upon the calm face of Raphael's
Madonna, which hung opposite the window.
Edythe Allen was not in the first flush of
youth, but with the added years had come
the grace and beauty of a sweet woman
hood which gazed from out the soft blue
eyes and asserted itself in every movement
of the slender figure. Standing before an
open oriel window, she gazed out into the
early twilight and breathed the mild air
prescient with the promise of the spring
time. The turrets of the old castle, visible
from the window, were like silhouettes
against the flushed evening sky and the
mountains beyond were rosy with the last
remnants of day.
She, too, had been thinking of the pleas,
ant friendship of the last few months, and
she knew that with all the strength of her
woman's heart she loved Harold Leigh. I'M
sought though her love was, and might for
ever be, she felt that it was the glory of her
life.
In this do women differ from men. When
man loves he wishes to give expression to
his passion, and receive a like expression in
return whereas a woman is, for time at
least, content to love, without the knowledge