Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1881-02-09

tuue lor uer ~ Once' uoW Sho VI iS"'N
up our desolate home But not for long.
Only for two short years, and then we hung
in agony over the death bed, where our
sweet one was breathing her life out. With
her last faint whisper she said, "Mary, my
darling, you have been so kind to me; care
for my babe as you have cared for me, and
may God reward you" | kissed her cold
hand and lips passionately, and solemnly
promised to care for my little sister with all
a mothers love and patience.
o, Mabel, sister, is not the promise re-
| deemed2
My father was plunged into the depths OF
grief and refused to be comforted. Even the
feeble wall of the little one failed to rouse
him, but it did me. Young as | was my
promise was to me sacred and the weight OF
care that fell on my young heart was deep
ened in that my father assumed none he
only brooded dreamily over his studies,
more from habit than any pleasure he felt
in them, though he did not neglect any
daily lessons. From the death of my own
mother my education had been his care All
my studies were directed by him, and be-
lieve made such progress as satisfied him.
Five years after the death of my young
stepmother my father died, leaving me in
greater loneliness, but with no added re-
sponsibility. He was not wealthy, but he
left a competency, ample for our simple way
of living. Hetty kept house for us, and we
lived on in the cottage that had been my
home always. We had called my little sis
ter Mabel, for her dead mother, and the very
image of her she was-the same pleading
| blue eyes, and yellow curls that clustered
about her white forehead in rings of gold.
| myself taught her, and weary task it
was. She was Just about as studious as her
pet kitten, and it was about as easy to COM
pei her to learn her lessons but by a great
deal of perseverance and an unlimited
amount of patience succeeded in getting
| the rudiments Of an education into her curly
head, so that she was not quite Ounce in
regard to books though l often wondered,
when my patience was sorely tried, what
our scholarly father would have done with
such student as this.
| Time passed on, and Mabel was sixteen
and l twenty-eight. We had never been
| separated even for night. / felt for my
young charge all of a sisters love and all of
mothers solicitude. Her mothers rel
atives had long been clamoring for visit
| from Mabel, but had put it off from time
to time until felt that could no longer do
so; and though l was included in the in
vitation, yet 1 felt that they were no kin of
mine, and my presence would detract rather
than add to the pleasure Of their visit.
| felt, too, that Mabel had too little indepen-
dence of character. l had always done
everything for her, and thought it might
do her good to have the responsibility of
caring for herself for little. There was
still another reason why wished Mabel to
| go to her relatives alone. l had an aunt, my
mothers sister, whom | had not seen for
many years, she being good deal of an in
| valid and unable to travel, and | wished to
visit her. So with some misgivings on my
part and many promises of good behavior
from Mabel, we separated, each to travel to
a different destination. Old Hetty we left
to keep house in our absence, and the man
who occasionally helped in our garden was
| left 10 guard the premises by night.
| Aunt Beatrice was delighted to see me,
you are like your mother" she said, pushing
the hair back from my temples, and gazing
into my eyes; "you are like her, and yet not
like,-there is a sad look in your eyes that
hers never had; there was laughing look
in her eyes that long to see in yours. She
died so young-several years younger than
you are now, think"
I told her my age, and she shook her head
as she said, &" You are too old and worn for
your years do for once in your life throw
off your burden of care for others and take
a bit of care for yourself, for you surely
need it,"
You quite spoil me, auntie there is moth
ing the matter with me only am dull and
stupid. l never Uas young, think, like other
girls" said alphabetically.
"Ah, that is it; no wonder you feel aged
at twenty-eight-you were cheated of your
birthright in your childhood, by mistaken
management in part, though / see you have
peculiar organization that is too much in
clined to brooding susceptibility; but if
your mother had lived, it would all have
been different,"-yes, | could readily see
how the whole current of my life would
have been changed if my mother had lived.
l heard from Mabel; she was enjoying
herself immensely, she wrote, and she did
hope l was having just as jolly time as
she was, "though you never do have jolly
times, as ] do" she added. l was not jolly
but threw off all my burden of care for the
time, and enjoyed every hour of my aunt's
society. She was the first friend had ever
known to whom l could open my whole
heart, and it was such relief to me to talk
to her, to sit at her feet and feel her thin
fingers caressing my hair, just as my OWL
mother might have done, while she told me
of my mother and of their happy girl life
together, until their marriage separated
them. l told her all could remember OF
my childhood and youth, of the dreams
ambitions and cares Of my life.
"And have you never had lover, May p
she queried.
. never had, and l answered her trul,
: when | said that father, mother, sister anC
books had been the only loves of my life.
"Your prince is long coming, dear" sh,
said tenderly, "but he WM come yet"
"My prince will never come to an out-of
, the-way place like Woodvile," | answered
laughing, sand if he did | have grown 5,
old and plain that he would not recogniz
> me. | used TO dream of him in the ole
S days, but he never came, and | have cease,
4 to look for him. No, auntie, / shall neve
> find him or he me. There is no one il
=. Woodyille could possibly fall in love witt
if tried shall just be an old maid an,
= take care of my sister till she marries,-he
s beauty will bring princes enough to her fee
i and then I'll come and live with YOU
aunt, if you will have me-"
81 should be only too glad to have yor
dear, but hope better things for you Their
I is wealth of affection in your heart neve
O yet called out, and a wealth of intellec
. that you much undervalue. You are nor
attractive than you think yourself; why,
Q believe you are growing positively hanC
i some there is a soft bloom on your cheel
a which is growing round and fair, and YOU
+ eyes were always lovely" said my partil
aunt.
e, "You are sad flatterer. ! shall real
&