The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1883-07-13
THE COLUMBIAN, VOL. XVII, NO 2s
COLUMBIA DEMOCRAT, VOL XLvII, NO ~

bury my love-to bury it deep, that
none may see its grave, and to hold no
thought of it in my heart-to put it
from me forever-to be as if it had not
been Oh, mother, cannot !"
"Patience, darling. Soon you will
gain the power. My heart grieves for
you, my dearest. We will try to for
get him." she said, gently, "we will
learn the task together. /. too, have
made loss. thought had gained
a son and had bright visions of the fu-
ture. We will put him from our minds,
and go back to the old, quiet life. We
will each be all to the other, as in the
old time"
'lt shall be so,' | said "My love is
buried. 1t may rest in peace our tears
have watered its grave | will put it
from my thoughts. But there is a love
that lives, and is fresh and strong,
and vigorous love that cannot die,
and that knows no change-our love,
my mother"
She held me in her arms she hushed
and soothed me as though | were a
child once more, and wept away the
great bitterness of my grief.
We sorrowed long-my mother, my
self aud the gentle Annie, who grew
very dear to me, with her earnest SYM
pathy and pleading, child-,ike love.
Stephen had not touched her heart.
and | was glad of this, although l set
tied that he should do so in the future.
We sorrowed, | say; yet it was hard
y so, for we each tried to cheer the
other and forget the past but settled
depression was upon us, and we decid-
ed to enneavor to dispel it by change of
scene.
We went to the seaside and the great
ocean gave us strength, and my mother
was fresh and bri ght rs the morning
sunshine once more, and she cheered
and cherished me until | was happy in
a subdued fashion and could almost for
get the past.
Annie grew strong and merry, but
her figure was still slight and fragile,
and her eyes kept their sadness, and
her manner was still simple and plead
ing like that of timid child. She
would never grow womanly, my moth
er said regretfully 1t was best she
should not, l thought; the clinging
plant always finds the strong support.
And went to my music; l could not
be idle or have reveries yet; my cure
was not quite complete. / had to keep
my mind we'll occupied, to fill it with
plans, hopes, and ideas to bar entrance
to thoughts that should not have ad-
mittance. And we'll my good mother
helped me! Love has its instincts,
and told her always when my mind
was straying, and when it was partly
empty, and forbidding remedies were
stealing in, and she would rouse me
with cheerful words of ordinary con.
versation and look that spoke her
heartfelt sympathy. Oh blessings on
thee, my mother; thy love was the Joy
thet knew no change: it was strong, it
was steadfast, it was invigorating, it
cheered me, it kept me firm to do right,
1t made my happiness.
We had been from our old home a
year, when it was decided that my
mother and Annie should return there,
while | still remained with some
friends.
Three months later l received
sweet letter from Annie, saying that
she had accepted Mr.. Hawthorn. Ste
phen and | had met as friends-rather
distant and unceremonious friends, /
am afraid, for we could not quite for
get the past--its shadow seemed to
linger over us.
And thus Annie went from us, and l
remained always in the old home, and
my dead love ceased altogether to
trouble me, and if my dear mother
grieved that the bright hopes she cher
ished at the first were not realized, she
never let me guess her secret sorrow.
We We're very happy; we did all the
good In our power with our wealth, and
we frightened the lives of many of our
poor neighbors and soothed the last
hours OF many poor woman by prom.
islng to take an interest in her children.
And as l grew older l thought knew
why Annie had won Stephens love
from me. The shy, winning, girlish
ways that had never been mine were
her chief charm.