The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1895-12-06
Shirt Mi5rrllanlI.


1t is twilight IN the garden of the
old manse.
hear a voice calling softly; it is the
Vice of Fanchette calling to her bird.
All. great, beautiful garden. quaint are
your paths, bordered with the box,
deeply green in its myriad, glossy
leaves. Sweet floats the fragrance of
your flo vels, as from host Of gently
swaying cancers.
Lo. deep ragged shadows sweep out
from beneath your ancient trees, and
the fountain, casting up clear, silvern
spray in the dusk, is singing a cool
thinking tune, as it falls FLASHING mo
the marble basin.
Methinks tn, FAIRIES and elves who
delight in weaving the wltcherles OF
love are haun ing youl sequesteled
hooks.
Through the tender hush breathes
the signing Of the leaves, AMI the
soughing Of The boughs, as tn sway
10 the night w''c;t!.
Hc., ana til re Is heard the occasion
al twitter of the sleepy birds. Happy,
happy garden where strays in the
golden day and in the shadowy even
ing light lovely Fanchette.
A maiden fra,l and beau iful us the
violet.
Dark and soft. as the purple pansy,
are her perfect eyes.
Gold, as tie yellow butter-cnp her
shining hair.
Fragrant, clustering flowers, has
she whispered you her secrets: You,
who are the swee, shares of here rverles
and of her merry moods.
1t is summer at the old mans"; and
now, here is TIE balmy twilight. Fan
Ghetto is ga herring rcsas bewilderlng,
lie fume Io.,s, gIi>tenrg wi h the
damp dew.
Ever and anon she pauses, and
coaxingly calls to her pet bird that
has flown from its resting-place on her
uldeshor.
am at the ivy gate-ah. the sad
clingins ivy!-and |, looking, behold
Fanchette, and love her, and shall owe
her always. She feels my eyes upon
her. and she turns and sees me. And
then her heart knows me.
Oh voice, sweeter than music and
softer than the silence. She speaks:
"Thou art welcome; long, long hath
been the time since | began watching
for thee. Oft hath the great sun made
his daily path across the heaven, till
slowly, owly, he dropped down the
western steep. Always, when | walk
ed among the blossoms, | lid them
on that day to look fairas', for per-
chance thou wouldst come; and point
ing toward the purpe mountain, |
would say, mayhap, even now, he
ride h to me down some eepy forest
path. 1t is for thee, for token, this
rose, with the evening dew upon it..
and its perfume sill fresh. 1t is the
emblem of love-" And l, taking the
rose, placed, it above my heart.
Fanchette and are walking together
and she is telling me of the wonders
of her life. OF her companions the
birds and the flowers. Fragile fancies
are hers, gossamer, airy dreams, splri-
tual thoughts, heart deep and wonder
full.
Yet, even while she is speaking
Fanchette is fading from me. Dimly
as from distance, the tender cadence
OF her voice comes to me, and her face,
far, like to flower, gleames fainter
and vet fainter, as the dalk Of night
floats, shade upon shade, between
us.
We are drifting apart; the star-rays
divide us. Fanchette," | call, but
afar off her face vanishes from me.
Here, in the blue mystery Ct the
early night. l am alone, save for those
passionless watchers, the stars, whose
wan beams pierce realm of silence.
Do l dream? Or am again with
Fanchette, listening to her lightsome
laughter waiting for her merry smile
and looking into the deeps of hel
eyes?
| stretch out my arms. Oh, terrible
impalpable space! Oh, ghos ly, I'M
Revealing shades of evening.
The flowers fade upon their wither
ing stalks. l See them dropping through
the night.
l am alone; beneath the gloom O.
the trees. Emptiness. Loneliness
Silence!
Sink though. shadow band of life
let me dwell in thy hushed halls, whef'
time less unrelenting, summons bacl
to us the phantoms of vanished hours
Do dream | hear voice calling
1t is the voice of Fanchette.