Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/234

 221

MY

new

YEAR'S

DREAM.

for her companion. Mrs. Gray says we should be thankful for any work."

“God help us!” sobbed the other. “Death is better than this." “Come,” said my guide, “we have one more visit.” Flitting before me, he led me to another house, as poor as the one we had left. Here, as before, we found the occupants busy. It was a small room, and the ﬁre made it close and oppressive, even on the cold January morning.

Round a small table, by the light of a tallow candle, a woman and two children were making artificial flowers. The little boy twisted the vines, the little girl out the leaves, and the mother put them together. All wore sad faces, and the mother's tears fell on the bright leaves. Suddenly throwing down the flowers, she rose and left the room. The children followed, and we too. Up again to a high attic. No ﬁre was in this room, no furniture, except a rude coﬁin, causing an acute pain. I had long thought that in which lay a baby form. Here the mother knelt, moaning, weeping, and calling upon her child to answer her. The children’s caresses were all in vain. Nature must have her way, and the mother, the widow, wept for her baby. My heart grew cold and chill, and I turned from the scene. A voice cried in my ears,

“Asleep, Lizzie? Wake up, and wish me a happy New Year!"

I started up in bed, to see Lucy Morton, in her exquisite ball dress, leaning over me for a kiss.

“Careless girl," she cried, “your head has been crushing one of the ﬂowers which had  dropped from your new bonnet. Happy New  Year! Why don't you say so? You are half  asleep yet, and your eyes are red. You cried  yourself to sleep, Lizzie,” and the round, white arms embraced me; “why will you mourn for was  the past! We all love you; I am sure I do, and  really you are better off than some people."

"Indeed I am!” I said, “and I will begin my New Year with a thankful spirit. thank you." "Why! are you crazy?"

“No; but I have had a dream. Now tell me all about the party.”

"Oh, we had a famous time. Lizzie, there were many inquiries for you. Naughty recluse!  Will you help me to receive my calls tomorrow  morning?" It was an effort to promise to see her gay visitors as the governess, but I made it. I re- ﬂected that I was in a strange city, and would meet only those whom I had seen at Mr. Morton's before, and I promised to go down.

“Mrs. Bates inquired for you. Said she noticed your face at my charade party. Mrs. Ermes said she could never forget your kindness to Laura when she was sick here. I am fairly tired  out with dancing. We had a new lien!”

“Who?”

“The author of Poems by the Road-Side. You remember them? You know brother Fred insisted that you sat for Joanna. It has always been a mystery who wrote them. He preserved bis incognita until to-night* but now stands con- fessed. He is a resident of your city, but intends to pass some months in Hew York. Going  to publish a new book, I believe.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Walter Haven. You will see him to-morrow, he asked permission to call. One, two, three! Three o'clock, it is bed time. Good night,” and kissing me warmly, she flitted away.

Walter Haven! The noinC fell upon my heart, causing an acute pain. I had long thought that I could bear to hear it, the pain there was so dead and sullen; but I found the old memories called np the old feelings. Walter Haven, who had never spoken of his love, yet left its impress sealed upon my heart. Ah! lips arc not needed to win a maiden's heart. There are looks, there are delicate attentions, kind actions, that will prison it without one word of love passing to her ear. I loved him. Until I was poor I believed he had loved me. “I will not see him,' I thought. Then pride whispered, “Let him see you can meet him calmly, without betraying any more interest than a friend might ask.” There was no more sleep for me. The first morning Of the year found me watching hs dawning.

The calling hour Came. Dressed with care, I was beside Lucy in the parlor. She looked un- usually lovely. A light silk cut so as to leave the snowy shoulders and arms bare, and a cluster of blue ribbons in her fair curls, made a simple but most becoming toilet. Our visitors came in one after another. The parlor was filled with callers, and I stood half concealed by the curtains behind Lucy, watching the animated scene, when

“Good morning, Mr. Haven,” fell upon my ear. I looked. He was bending over her hand, just as one year before he had bent over mine. Meet him calmly! Ah, my traitor heart beat as if it would burst, my whole frame trembled, and  I knew my face was pale. He sat beside her on  the sofa. Mrs. Morton was occupied receiving other calls.

“ Miss Morton, are you tired of hearing happy  New Year yet?”

“Not at all. Some oome in all sincerity, Those I prize.”