Saint Mary's beacon. [volume] (Leonard Town, Md.) 1867-1983, 1897-12-23

- A~oeSA @uu tuaus es |.
/ thought there was a likeness i'm
his face to the boys that came TO
Tubbs. to be taught drawing, half
year ago. How often does the
prosaic hide the depths of a poetic
nature. This is his visit to his
parent's grave, on the anniversary
of their death; and who knows of
what worth such visitation and
self-communion may be? The vir-
taes of . year-usy- be scwu thus in
q single hour!'
Gray passes on to the schoolboy's 8
solitary grave. No reverent feet
have visited it--no reverent hand
scraped off the dazzling snow. The
marks where the little redbreasts
have hoped across it are plainly
visible, and yet it is not solitary:
the wind sings q dirge, the snow
presses downily, and at night the
moonlight sweeps over it and silvers
it with glory. Under the arch of
Heaven no single thing but what
has some hymn sung to it-some
tears wept over it by Nature,
The poor usher resumes his walk
presently, for he has far to 60. The
cold ;s benumbing, the snow deep
er, yet, he presses on; and he stops
to find a small flask in the pocket
Of his outer coat; from this he sips
a drop of brandy, Git holds but very
littie) and then plods on. The day
begins to fade-the distance is vet
considerable---he grows anxious.
At length the moor dips down
ward into a valley, and beyond this
is the higher, bleaker, lonlier moor,
across which lies the station he
wishes to reach; through the valley
sweeps vast water power, aud here
stands the wondrous mill, in which
daily work three thousand people,
employed by John Fielding, the
great cotton lord. But the mighty
giant of spindle and mule sleeps to-
day, the fires are low, and labor
rests her hands Some miles from
the mill the MANSION of the cotton
lord stands embossomed in woods,
and here at the foot of the fell is a
cluster of cottages.
Descending to one OF these, he
asks woman standing at a door
the nearest way to the opposite fell.
why, cross the back by the
bridge, and take the road afore
thee. But eh, sir it's coming on
wild night for the moors; and
now I'm thinking. if ye go by Gray
stones-Mr. Fielding's park anent
there-you'd find it more sheltered
like, and bit higher still. You
can't miss the way, if ye keep this
side the beck to the mill; then
cross it. and bit beyond get into
the park by the stile; the path
then'll take thee by Graystone-pool
"a mighty piece Of water, all frozen
over now--and towards the emo
leads up the way on to the moors.
You can't miss it, though it's CON-
ing on a wild night, fear
Gray hurries on, passes the mill,
the mill-hands' cottages--almost
all of them tenantless to-day-fnds
his way to the pool, and SO to its
furtherest side nearest the moor.
As he approaches the road leading
thereto he sees man dressed as a
servant standing on the bank, as
though attending three or four
boys, who are skating up and down
the pond. They are all of them
fine; handsome, athletic lads, and
Gray knows them to be his old
drawing pupils, the Fieldings,
Though he has no intention of ap-
preaching them, for they are skat-
ing some distance from where he
has to turn off, he cannot refrain
from staying q moment to watch
them. AS he does so, a bell at the
hall rings loud and clear: its echoes
are taken up in the solemn moors.
and re-echoed back again.
Gentlemen calls the servant,
there is the first dinner-bell; you
had better return now
They prepare as it seems to obey.
by skating towards the shore; and
Gray turns away, not willing to be
recognized and detained, for he
feels desolate and low in heart.
For him no welcoming feast is
spread; no ear listens for him, no
eye expects him. Snow before him.
snow behind him-a sad and solemn