The Hickman courier. [volume] (Hickman, Ky.) 1859-current, 1882-07-28

Most Of our lives are Bitter-Swcet; but
if there is one period in it when the bit
ter and sweet are superlativeS, it is when
love takes possession of soul and body
rs instruments whereon to play his
mighty preludes.
Margaret Townsend had lived alone
almost all her life, with her father,
quiet student, loving but his daughter
and his books, and so her life was full Of
associations, but not of friends. None
of the bloom had been worn of her soul
by that playing at love called Irritation
She had read, with q certain solemnity,
some old books wherein mention was
made of men who had died and done
other things for love; and she may have
had dreams on the subject, but. filny and
shifting as dreams generally are.
Her father had taught her Greek, and
so .'she CHANGED upon the poets" and
their thoughts had given flavor to her
own, Some time before this had come
illness; it had seemed at one moment as
= If she must cross the narrow bound of
time into the wide spaces of eternity; but
slowly death had let go his hold, and she
was well enough now to enjoy the
change TO the quaint Devonshire fishing
village, perched in the rift of headland
among ancestral trees and bowers of ash
ana apple and pear
1t is unique, this village, with its hum
dred steps leading down to the quay and
the shingly shore. The houses rise one
above the other, and the quaint rooms in
them are let in summer TO visitors with
good walking powers. Its only inn is a
temple of bric-a-brac, and, in summer
IS crowded with pilgrims visiting one of
the shrines of nature In this seqres-
Sr.li 10 fafI
and DR. John Enderby were at present
the only strangers, and the Young doc
tor, after two or three days, limped into
Margarets sunlit sitting room, into
which the light filtered through net
work OF budding apple boughs. Here
he would. sit and watch Margaret al
work, or listen to her rs she read some
Old World book to her father. her fresh
young voice contrasting with the Oft
times Grabbed style, and as he thus
watched her she grew inexpressibly
pleasant to him. Pleasant, and that was
ALL
But to Margaret? Without one word
OF warning, had come the browning
faection of her life. Heaven lies about
us IN our infancy" then fades away.
But once more it lies about the man and
woman IN the mellow time of youth with
and earth borrows of this heavenly lioht.
Did ever such sunlight pass through the
rosy film of the apple blossoms that
nestled against thee wall and made a
bower before Margaret's window? And
as for the blue bay cleaning below
was it really so cruel after all? Did so
many husbands and fathers and sons lie
tossing IN its depths. 1t looked so caress-
ing, washing the feet of the red cliffs
where the greenery crept down to meet
it.
John was free to come and oo as he
liked in the blossom-screened room. hold
ing learned converse with Mr.. Town
send, meeting his daughter in the woods
: now fully leafed, sometimes helping her
over the rocks in search of anemones.
On fine evenings the three would sit on
the little semi-circular pier that inclosed
the quay pule'' and watch the sunset
facing and the darkness nesting down
among the wooded headlands, and the
great evening star suddenly appearing
an the blue above the palinp primrose
that touched the water After that the
sky would swiftly fill with stars, and the
moon would spring into the airy silence.
and her light would penetrate sky and
sea and clif-hung village, the lights