The record-union., 1896-09-27

tuQe, ana nearu the ecnO3S OF the takers
and the lowering winds. / pined to see
her lips blossom into smiles. And. as
in 1anguid negligence she smoothed her
hair before the open easement, I be-
thought me of a precious jewel-One
which I had set great store by-a gem
of lustre and elegance. a delight for
young eyes. / searched my wallet and
found the gem. This l fastened at the
throat of the maid. My heart grew
sick at it's lack of lustre. The smile
of the maid was the smile of autumn in
a garden of flowers.
"Oh!' cried 1, Jewels glitter brightest
at dawn. Wait till the sun like a giant
comes out of the east. Wait for the
lark and the new flowers of dawn.
Then we will be gay, you and l."
After the night. SIR said the maid.
/ looked out upon the dolorous gar
den. upon the lazy crone, upon the gilded
fields.
After the night" said /, taking the
maids hand in mine. She put on her
white bonnet and we went out Of the
room. Opposite to us was door aJar
OF late inquisitiveness had grown upon
me. I had much difficulty in refraining
from pampering the habit. 1 pushed
the door little wider and peeped in
looked into darkened room; saw in
the cleaning a tumbled bed. A still
sick man eyed me with CLASSY eyes. 1
felt that one more wrinkle was Scrawled
upon my face.
The sun was ripe for setting as the
maid and I set out upon the white road
between the hedges. The doors of the
cottages we're shut The flowers in the
gardens were in rank disorder and
choked with rank weeds. Only one man
we saw. He sat outside his cottage
door with his grindstone in front of him
"a very old shrunken man, busily
grinding his scythe. But his fingers
were so weak that the steel scarcely
grated upon the stone, and made only a
low humming sound, soft as the hum of
bees in distant hive.
''Tis Simon. the mower" said the
maid; che be forever grinding his
scythe, but, la, he's too weak to snap
twig"; she smiled compassionately.
The grinder never turned his bent
head nor stayed his profitless labor.
"All day long" said the maid, "all
day long sings the drone of his scythe;
and the childer used to sit quiet at the
W1nuOW watching WI tHelT eyes VI lIIlCe
for the sparks to skip fro the stone
Their yellow hair was just golden in the
green. But the childer a. gone back
fro the window, and all the white sum-
mer day the buzz shakes i the air. Ay,
and i winter. Oh, sir, the sun climbs
up sick and sulky, and crawls like a fat
snail i the blue, and goes down by the
Black Mill, and the darkness eats him
up. / do feel that my heart is o glass
and be nigh to breakin' when the chill
night sneaks in at the keyhole. 1 do
miss the cluckin' hens in the sunny dust
and the douce- smellin' hay"
I spied furtively at the glazed win
dows, but no children looked out upon
us thence. and the fOrSaken nests OF
birds in the thatch were draggled and in
wisps like a widows weeds. Not long
after the maid and / came to the village
we'll. The hoary stones were green in
ratches. The brown shreds Of a broken
PITCHER lay in the dust at our feet.
There was fain to sit and muse, looking
into the still black waters which seemed
to have in hiding the silence of the dead
But my friend called me, and we jour
neyed on together hand in hand. With
each step upon our way L seemed 10
draw nearer to the thoughts of the anti
quated maid at my side. My self was
not left behind for the pleasure and
lUstiness of youth took new color
Feeble knees and waning courage were
carrying me out of the ken of the world.
Yet my minds calm was rather the
calm Of a child's awakening to the morn
than the lazy ease of falling to sleep at
the slow coming of night. We climbed
steep and rocky way, full of rutS and
holes, and upon our ears, when we
turned an angle of the road and came
out from under the gloomy cedars, sud
denly shone the red windows of house
standing gaunt and solitary and watch
full upon a crest Of the hill.
There be the Grey House." said the
maid, kneeling down amidst the long
green grass.
The evening was glorious.
Here was left behind the toll and fret
Of mems business. And while l was
looking under my hand towards the
brightness. a strange company of men
defiled between the iron gates of the
house. carrying a burden upon their
shoulders. I sat down with the maid
bv the roadside, and I waited until the
procession should come up to us. When
they We're come near / shouted, rs Mr..
Basil Grey at home?'
The weedy men paused. They put
down their burden in the dust. They
shot furtive glances the one to the other.
cay, sir at home that he be" shrilly
laughed a wizened little man who led
the way with lighted lantern and a
mattock.
The maid turned to the west. I bent
over the box, and read my friends name
upon the lid. Death took me by the
hand Presently the little band pro-
ceeded on their way. The maid and I
followed afar Off When dark
ness was come I tottered to my musty,
snowy chamber in the little inn. The
wan child led the way, carrying a can
die. 7 sat at the open window. For a
long time I watched the sexton labor
ing by the Silly light of his lantern,
and the yellow crescent moon in the
graveyard of the Village of Old Age
Walter Ramel, in Cornhill
Legal Ignorance.
In the year 1898, Sir Edward Coke,