Year: 1859

Z
/ have seemed to live again in the past


This little missiye tells the story of one who
was my friend in youths bright morn; It's tear
stained, and the writing is dim, yet as | gaze at
the signature, see again the sad dark eyes Of
May Carleton again, and again, weep for
| the dear one who gave her happiness for gold
at the command of an unjust parent But she
rests in peace at last far. away the weeping will
low kisses moss grown grave and on the
cold white marble as it CLEANS in the sunlight,
you may read the name OF one who died ere
time had marred her beauty. Sleep on May
Carleton, sleep on; the willow bends tenderly
over thy resting place, and the sun-rays shine on
the flowers which bloom above thy breast All!
here is tiny sheet, filed with kind and loving
words bearing the sweet name of " Rosa Late" T"
Rosa Lille how she comes before me to-day in
all her grlhood's beauty Rosa Lille, with her
eyes Of heavenly blue, and the sunny-hued curls
wreathing the snowy forehead; how memory
goes back to the days, the happy days, when
she was my friend and playmate when the stars
were so bright, and the sun was so golden, when
youth was all radiant with light.


Rosa was the child Of poverty, while [ was
the heiress of wide domain my every wish was
gratifed, and care was unknown. She was my
chosen companion, and when nature was robed
in her green drapery, we would ascend the hill
together, and startle the birds from their nests,
brushing by sleeping flowers, making the airing
with our joyous songs, or merry laughter; gather
ing flowers in the old wood, where the sun-rays
penetrated the leafy canopy and fell bright and
joyous on the rich green sod beneath; seeking
out each shady little nook, Willing away hours
of precious time, in all the luxury of natures
quiet; reading lessons of truth and God, from
each leaf quivering with the passing breeze, gaz-
ing upward at the tree-tops, with their weat h
of green leaves, waving to and fro, the gentle
wind making low soft melody, as it swayed each
lofty branch; and yet on upward, where the blue
canopy with its silvery Clouds smiled doaon-
yards; and higher yet in Imagination past the
green tree-tops, past the blue sky, above the
light clouds, up into Hedten where the angels
tune their golden harps and bask forever in the
light, falrer than sun-rays, that streams from
the throne of God Oh then Rosa Lille you and
/ were happy.


remember well, the day when Elliot Melville
asked me to be his wife. 1t was where Mary
Carleton sleeps, beneath the willow; and the
blue sky appeared to grow more beautiful the
rays Of the sun seemed brighter and there was
more of music in the flow Of the stream near by,
as we thus pledged our faith.


~Come with me Rosa dear, and once more let
us rambe oer the hill and through the wood ;
| am going to be married Rosa, to my hearts
idol the noble, the gifted Elliot Melville aud you
shall bind the orang wreath upon my brow.
Remonstrances were in vain, and Rosa helped
me prepare for my bridal; and when dressed, to-
gether we stood before the splendid mirrorin my
dressing room; the rich heiress, and happy
bride elect; with the white satin robe decking
my form; the orange wreathupon my brow and
she the child of poverty dressed as had insisted,
in rich white satin, with wreath of fresh dewy
white roses resting upon her fair brow, and twin
ing midst the sunny curls Icould not but feel
that she should have been the bride of the hand
some, and the proud Elliot Melville. The bri-
dal day had dawned, but the bridegroom came
not, and as waited Rosa, too, was missing
but all too soon learned the faithlessness Of the
one whoh pledged his truth meath the shade
of the willow. The day that was to have made
me his wife, saw him kneel at the altar, with one
who was false as she was fair; and thus he left
me, bearing in his bosom where should have
rested, Rosa Lille


The bright sun was just kissing the dew from
OH the flowers, when visited the old place be-
meath the willow; in my hand carried a with
cred orange wreath, the same, that Rosa Lille
had fastened on my brow that sad day; my eyes
were dim as gazed upon the loved spot and
my hand trembled as hung the withered wreath
upon a branch of the willow over Mary's grave
and the blue sky seemed to smile sadly upon me


and the stream murmured mournfuly as / turned


to leave my bHghted hope twined with the with


cred orange wreath, on the willow. But ply
heart lost not all Of its joyousness, loved hin
> not, when knew he was false; but | became
= the wife of one, whom loved well, and faith