The Washington critic., 1888-02-18

life; its Injuries to her were the wild
berries she picked in her own '1ot'
on the mountain, the Spitzenberg ap-
pies on the one tree in her garden, q
loaf of cake once or twice q
year from some kind and thought
full neighbor, a fowl at Thanksgiving,
or some ribs Of pork and little
sausage-meat at killing-time from
such sources; for Hanaford people
were "real neighborly." Her pleas
ures were to go to church and prayer
meeting and to work at early dawn
and after sunset in her thrifty gar
den, and then gather her rosebuds,
her pinks, her scarlet balm, her
heaven-blue larkspur spikes, and her
tall stalks of aromatic fraxinella bios
SONS, and carry them to some ailing
and flower-loving friend. A simple,
homely, pious life she led, deviod of
events, with no house-mate but her
gray cat, and no more anxiety about
her means of life than q bird has that
picks its living from the bending
weed tops, or the tree boughs among
which it slings its tiny nest from year
to year.
Yet, after all, Lydia was woman,
and she lived in her nest alone. A
woman's heart and life never arrange
themselves in solitude so comfortably
as q mans; perhaps because he never
has the feeling that his loneliness is
compulsory. He has the comfortable
masculine consciousness that he can
at any time ask and have some one to
worship him and to care for him; but
a woman's fate is forced upon her.
She can make no certain effort to
escape 1t; she can only gild it with
hope, or drape il with resignation.
Yet its lifelong endurance does not
kill her instructive longing = only
stiles it; and it would be untrue to
nature as well as facts did / deny that
Miss Lyddy never witnessed the
household life of joy and pain, of
forbearance and affection, in the
homes where she was called as a
helper, without breathing to herself
some half-owned wishes that she, too,
was able to rely on a strong arm, to
have children cluster about her with
their fresh life enlivening her years,
to be the centre and trust of a family,
mother in her home--highest and
sweetest mission of woman
She never pined to vote; nothing
could have induced her to leave the
sphere which she believed God had
appointed for her; she did not long
to preside at conventions or conventi-
cles, her truly feminine soul revolted
at such thoughts; but she was lonely
often and again by her purring wood
fire, with only the cat ON her knees,
the flicker of snow against her win
dow, the drip of rain on the roof, or
the soulless crying Of wind in the
spout-the only sounds TO disturb her
reveries. When such dreams or ideas
as these assailed her, she repelled
them as best she might, ofttimes
closing her eyes and whispering to
herself in her honest, pious fashion:
"Thy will be donel" ;" a spell that
quieted her, in the exquisite language
Of Scripture, "even as weaned
child"
1t was dark cold evening, that 14th
of February, when a hurried tap
called Miss Lyddy, just lqty 1afk, tc
the kitchen door, apCd boy, tied ur
even to his eyes IN a fluffy red com.
forter, thrRHC a yellow envelope into
her hand and fed away.
MlsS/ Lyddy drew near the lamp
carefully cut the envelope, and dis.
covered within il another, fowered,
gilt, and tinted in the most horid
style; she hesitated q moment before
profane scissors were allowed to open
that beautiful work of art; but curl
osity prevailed; she slit the end neatly
and drew out sheet of tinted note
paper. A wicked little Cupid leered
at her from the unfolded note, as he
seemed, to point right at her face his
bended bow and ready arrow; two
tiny turtle doves eyed each other as
they perched side by side on a green
branch in the other corner; garlands
of roses and -get-me-nots trickled
down either side of the page, and
enclosed the following verses, written
in firm round script:
Dear Lydia, recall the past
On this auspicious day;
Old times that flew away so fast,
When you and ! at play
Swung from the oak trees by the school,
Or gathered plums when days grew cool.
81 wish those hours would come once more
When !, happy child,
Waited for you at mothers door,
And you came by and smiled.
nus DCtn lOIB anu lulu anu Suus
But memory still can make me glad.
"Qh, Lydia, has your heart grown cold
Beneath the frosts of timer
My faithful love, though be old,
Keeps yet its Youthful prime.
still am yours, II you'll be mine,
Your true and constant Valentine"
Miss Lyddy laid down the missivC
and sank into her rocking-chair.
Goodness me F" she calculated
Her face glowed her pleasant eyes
glowed, too; in all her life she haC
never had q valentine" before, anC
she could scarce believe her own eyes
She picked it up again, looked ovel
the envelope, inspected that naughty
little Cupid erirsorily (she did not lik,
babies without clothing), smiled {
tender smile at, the pretty billinf
doves, ran her worn and sallow indie,
finger down the tracery of garlands
and then fell to reading the verses
over.
Molly and Anne had been much
disappointed about that bit of rhyme
They had intended to make it very
pompous and sublime, but their wit
failed them; they could achieve moth
ing but this simple little jingle; but
they 'builded better than they knew
Miss Lydia could feel and understand
this plain English much better than {
loftier and more elaborate strain. Sh,
did hesitate moment over "auspi
cious;" but there was her Walker!
Dictionary in a little high cupboard
where she kept it along with hel
mothers Bible, and it took but. q mo
ment to explain to her what the poly
syllable meant. Then she began t
talk to herself, as lonely people will
well, it beats all / don't know
who under the canopy could hav,
writ that TO me. Somebody't wen
to deestrick school along Of me, Ger
tain. We did hey swing onto tha
big white oak by the Brandy Hill
gahAp,l- hnttgn M