The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1883-05-19
SHAWLS.


| of the old attic are inexhauStible. To-
day was as balmy as a spring day could
be, blowing a perfect wealth cf per-
fume into the open windows of the house,
waking the bees i'll the hives under the
lilac bushes and sending them out honey,
gathering. The house keeper would not
wait another minute, she declared, but
would go to house cleaning at once, be
| ginning with the attic. So away she
went with Percy Bangert, the two-year-
old, pattering along at her heels, and
| Juggling after her up the long steps.
| What an endless climb it did seem But
at length he got his rosy face in at the
| door and screamed with delight till every
tooth in his head was plainly visible.
| Then in the hustle he was entirely for
| gotten and at dinner time nobody could
find the baby Il perfect horror settled
over the place.
At length | thought of the attic, and
going up found a chaos of articles tum-
bled from their hiding places. l did not
like it it was so much like opening the
graves of our loved ones.
The object of my search was forgotten
in looking over the timc-worn trinkets,
dresses and pictures seeming so out of
date yet holding such volumes of tragedy
| and romance as they lay piled upon the
floor. Wedding dresses of those who
had lived to grow weary of life, and had
found no regret in its ending, slips of
| babies grown into manhood and woman
hood, and drifted away from the old farm
house aprons with the heads of heroes
stamped in different colors upon them
aprons which had been the pride OF the
children of long ago sword with dull
stains upon its rusty blade. AS great
grandfather's sword came from war as
bright as when it went away. one of the
| boys had put that stain upon it with
some powerful acid remember it well.
My meditations were interrupted by a
sort of wheezy sound like mouse be-
meath the caves. followed by yawn that
alarmed me- and then a rolici,ing laugh
and baby Percy came bounding toward
me, half hidden beneath scarlet silk
shawl, the fringe of which made a bright
frame for his tllxen, wavy hair. trailing
about him, and at length entanglng his
feet 50 that he fell head foremost into
my lap.
My great-grandmother had worn that
shawl on her wedding day. 1t is orna-
mentod nearly all over by masses orroses
and trailing vines. | have no doubt that
her husband felt a world of Joy at the
rustling of that fringe about him. as, on
her eighteenth birthday, he stepped out
of the church beside her in his snuff
colored knee breeches ana brilliantly
buckled shoes. His dark hair was a
powder. lie might have omitted it how
ever, for time is much more artistic than
a gentleman hair-dresser. and he soon
touched the strans with silver that
could never be brushed out. wonder
if throb Of pain did not possess him as
he saw the result of those touches, and
noted the same silver on the sunny hail
of his wife. Did she sing to him John
Anderson, my Joe John" as she sat il
the great sitting room after the grand
children had fallen asleep in the nursery
across the hall ? At anyrate they tot,
tered down the hill together and resi-
together at its foot in the valley church
yard.
That dull, India shawl you,,er, with its
tangle undcrthrcads of faded blue and
rusty brown, was great grandmother
too, later in life. She was PROUD
woman anc took great delight in enter
ing the tall pew of the church with the
new shawl from over the seas thrown
gracefully about her shoulders. l. i.
said that as she went in the costly wraI
brushed the white and black, half cotton
one, of Jane Cummings, who sat back by
the door. | wonder if no whisper from
the future told the naughty woman thai
the same myrtle which chung to the
grave If her humble sister would festooi
its tcndrills upon the mould above her
self and that her beautiful daughter
whose neck sparkled with diamonds il
the light of the candle in the silver can
delabra, would slip away in the dead o.
night and marry the son of Jane Cum
mings. Surely such things must come
in whisnerS down the wears
There are none living now who rcmen
Der the two women but the truth ha
come to us, and it is no secret, that Jane
Cummings died of hunger on the nigh
that her naughty neighbor gave a CRANE
party, and that while the little daughte
OF wealth lay in her beautiful room sh,
sobbed aloud and refused to be comforteC
because it was cold aud somebody wa
suffering. 0, great grandmother what
n blot upon your name that you tried t
quiet her with the knowledge that sh'
scolded the nurse in your dignilicd way
for telling foolish tales of distress, an,
| neither knew nor cared that in the little
house on the slope toward the village
dead widows only child shivercd anC
sobbed, without light or fire listened t,
the wind, as it clutched greedily a
doors and windows, and wished that h
too might die.
All me . the worth of your India shaw
l would have warmed and fed him many
day. Yes he one day married the beau
tiiul daughter, who had sobbed for sym
pathy on that dreary night, and now, a
| sit in the old attic, see the stated,
, mansion on the slope where their de
scendants live, while the path across on
r own stile, through the beautiful greer
; fields, proves how entirely unconsciou
| OF wrong these far of descendants are.
: India shawls are still priced, as are tn
real laces that adorn the neck Of Thu
t present Mrs. Cummings but they tel
+ her such different tale to what the
+ whispered to our dead ancestor. Som