The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1886-06-18
a RETROSPECT,


her eairn," quoted bright-faced girl, one of
party walking from the Glen to the summit
of Mount Washington, when we reached the
Lizzie Bourne Monument primitive as those
up-piled by the early Britons, and just as
touching and appealing as they, the homely.
simple element of pathos in the wild desola-
ton.
l looked at the thoughtless speaker, care
less in the very prodigality of her gay youth
and beauty, and said, Lizzie Bourne was
just your age when she persisted here; and
she was not unlike you in many ways, with
her joyous, bright temperament and viva
cious manner 1t is now more than thirty
years ago that her life went out where this
sad cairn is built, but it seems to me but
yesterday"
The party of pedestrians moved on pres
emily, but for me, a vast black cloud had
sunk and fallen heavily over the whole vast,
rocky wilderness. | was back in the past
with the girl who had died here / reviewed
her sunny life, rich, lovely, full of compan-
ionship, full of cheer; she had the true ar
lists love of the beautiful in nature, and the
keen pleasure in firm health and physical ex-
ercise, that refined, sensuous, finely strung
organization always has. And surely, few
girls have more friends than she had. In
Hope cemetery at Kennebunk in Maine,
there is monument erected to her memory,
as this is here but it is very different from it ;
instead of the rude, rough heap of stones,
set where the wild winds wall and moan and
shrek, where the pitiless teeth of the frosts
gnaw into the very bowels of the ground, and
tybar f1lrinue Hxyir, nl0II6C nftap Hind
the faces of earth and heaven, there is mas
sive block Of freeStone on which is perpetu-
ated the tragedy of her death. A plain mar
BILE slab stands at the head of her grave. En-
graved upon it are these lines, touching in
their unaffectedness, and touching too. in
that they tell of the friendship of the time
before the heart is world-worn and weary
perchance grown false.
Dear Lizzie, thou hast left us thy memory never.
And we, thy young associates, deeply mourn that
thou,
The loved and loving one, should'st go SO soon.
And dearer one to her than these friends,
there was one, at the very thought of whom,
the landscape took on a newer light. And
it had been only so short time since this
lovely radiance had settled over the earth
and she could think of it as something real,
as something that was always to remain. Be-
fore, it had seemed like the Pickering, chang
ing lights and shadows, from the old willow
lined banks on the fair face of the river, up
which she used to row with her girl friends
in her pleasure boat, or like the white fog
that melted and f1oated off above its silver
cleaning course in the fragrant mornings
when Abe galloped ON horseback along the
pleasant country roads. But 1t was real now,
and so blessedl
And SO her heart was very light that beau
tlful September afternoon thirty years ago.
To behold a sunrise from the top of the
mountain that all New England people are
taught to admire and revere, had long been
cherished dream. Her uncle and favorite
cousin were with her. Eagerly she drank in
the beauty of the prospects unf0lded at every
step the air was wonderfully clear, the vast,
primeval forests glowed with orange, Grim
son, brown and yellow, the westering sun
brought soft, exquisite dropping shadows.
the bare lodges looked fanny and purple and
gray, with dim green woods lntersperSed with
the gorgeous coloring. After while there
were clouds, and then the charm OF light and
shade that glided swiftly from cone to base
of the rugged mountain monarchs, was ever
changing The sun was behind the noun
tains sinking in the west. Lizzie's poetic soul
revealed in the rich contrasts of color, the
FURNISHED sides of the tremendous pyramids
filled her with awe. and the slanting light
that streamed between the peaks seemed to
her like the light from "a land that is fair
er than day." She breathed and moved and
thought and yearned and loved in this last
afternoon of her life, in the very upper air of
the celcstials. From very gladness of heart
and the joy she felt in movement, she kept
ahead of the others all the way, and they
thought, chow strong she is, how vigorous,
and how happy"
Suddenly all was changed, and the fog and
darkness, that was to be the dear girls pail,
was upon them, wrapping them in it's dread
full foldS The cruel winds pierced them
through and through. They must wait for
the morning light. The uncle placed the
stones that were to build cairn for one of
them in wall around the two girls. With
their arms around each ether they sat for
warmth and comfort. Lizzie did not feel tired,
but the situation was so strange that she
seemed to herself to be in another world, and
here so high above the world that she had
known, she fell to thinking of her life as OF
something that was already past. She had al
been thoughless too, she wondered. She
took comfort in the thought that she had
been faithful worker in the Sunday school,
and she had been a good daughter, loving
sister, faithful friend; then her maiden
fancy wandered to him to whom she was soon
welded husband, ito have and to hold from
this day forward, for better, for worse, for
richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,
to love, cherish and to obey, till death do us
part" she murmured softly to herself.
It'll death do us part" she repeated solemn
thought. And how delightful the afternoon
had been! And her life was to be full of
such, for the light that irradated all things
was from within, and not from without.
Content as little child, with a smile upon
her lips and in her heart, she folded her
arms closer about her cousin and closed her
eyes. When her uncle spoke to her, her
spirit had fled, that bright spirit. and they
were in the cold and darkness and bitter
gloom, without her.-Ellen M. Mason in I'll.
w. Ripley's revised Crawford History of
the White Mountains"