Page:Peterson magazine 1849.pdf/15

 14 well, mother—I would’nt for worlds divert Philip's mind from his studies,” but dutiful as she was, she could not overcome the growing dislike which from that morning she felt for Squire Stewart.

Vacation came, and with ita litle note for Elsie. She cried with disappointment es she tead it. Week after week had she counted the days—the very hours and now to find that five more months must be numbered before they could meet, was too mach to bear patiently.

Poor Elsie! no wonder that she sobbed so griov- ously No wonder that ske thought him strangely changed to prefer travelling with hie father to wan- dering with her through their favorite wood paths.

But spring flitted onward, and summer came and departed, end beautiful automa rested upon ber for taken couch. Then beneath tho shadows of the eame old oak, Philip and Elsie again set, but how much ‘of change bad that one little yenr wrought. Elsie, Aelicate form was like the lily bud with snowy petals, just expanding. The auburn bair, which before had haag unconfined in wavy curls, was aow of a gicesier and a darker hos, and wes banded plainly ovor the forehead, and twisted simply around ber mall but beautifully shaped bead. And. Philip, he was changed, A deeper, steadier tight burned in the clear depths of his dark eyes, and his proud lips curved with & Daughty amite as he recounted the incidents of his ‘year of trial to his listening companion.

“Thank heaven, Iam a Freshman ao longer,” ho said, and Elsie thought to herself what a fine thing it must be to be a Sophomore, as Philip had pictured Sophomore’s life so glawingly.

‘Ah! those happy four weelss, how soon they were numbered with the past, and again Elaie sat lonely and sad over her studies in her father's library, and Philip returned full of hope and happiness, for now he was, indeed, a Sophomore,

‘When April came, Elsie’s heart was too full of ansisty to grieve that Philip has gone {o « Southern city to pass bis vacation with a classmate.

‘Anxiety for the life of « father whom she had well nigh worshipped from her infancy, and whose gray bairs were dearer to her than tbe untold weslth of princes. But when had love the power to save its cherished objecta from the grave? Alus! never—and 20 Elsie stood beaide her dying father’s couch, and pear ‘Mrs, Gray knelt praying wildiy amidet her stifled sobs.

One moment of intense stiliness followed by a quick, genping moan—e low, trembling voice, saying, ‘God bless you, and be with you, my derlings,” and the spirit of the devoted husband, the loving father and the faithful partor excaped from its fetters of clay.

‘Ah! there was deep and bitter mourbing within thore walls that night; but the morning sun shone ‘upon two tranquil and placid brows, for the struggling spirits had been subdued with the fret wild gush of grief, nnd humbly and fervently bed they repeated the ‘words of the Saviour, “Thy will, not mine, be done,”

Days pasted, and slowly from the old church tower rang ont the funerat knelt. They hore bis coffin re- verently and carefully up the broad aisle, where Sabbath after Sabbath, for well nigh @ quarter of a

contary, he hed passed in the strength of his manhood. ‘They rested it beside tho altar, where one short moath before he had brokea the breed, and consecrated the wine of the communion, and as the villagers pressed ‘sround, many @ choking sob and moaa of sorrow ‘echoed through the aisles. One by one they passed to their seats, and Mrs. Gray aud Elsie stood beside, to take their Inst look. The face of the widow was mournfully sweet, as she bent fondly over the elay, ‘and pressed her pertiog kiss upon the marble lips of the departed; but Elsie's was 2s pallid as ihe fonn defors her, and her compressed lips and glazed eyes told—oh! how plainly—ihat her crushed spirit was writhing and-siraggling within ker. The voice of prayer went up in faltering tones from their mids, ‘and then again they pasted from the church, and wound slowly atong the little path thal led to the burial-ground, The coflin was lowered in the new- made grave, and old Deacon Walters came forward ‘with tearful eyes, and the widow and the orphan. resting upon his arms, stepped to the brink, and glanced’ downward. Largs scalding tears chased each other down the widow's face as the tumed ‘away, end a half-stifled groan escaped from her ewell- ing bosom. Elsie was motionless, aod almost rigid, and the good deacon was obliged to draw her gently from the spot: but when the earth felt ratilingly upon the lid, she sprang wildly forward—a gasping ery—a terrible shriek, “My father! oh, my father!” and abe fell heavily upon the pile of earth.

‘Long, very long to the anxious mother did poor Elsie remain io this death-like stats, and when bec ‘eyes opened laoguidly and slowly, they rested upon the vines which were twined acrom her chamber window.

“Ob! lam at home,” she said: “1 bad such a hor- rible dream, dear mother—oh! Tam ao glad I am with you egain,” and exhausted with the effort of speak- ing, abe closed ber eyes and fell into a gentle sleep, while her motber bent over her, watching every breath anxiously, and murmuring from time to time, in a low voice, a fervent prayer,

It was the middle of June—the month of rosee— and softly through the latticed windows of the pare sonage stole the sweet breath of the pure jessmine, the clustering setingo, and the wreathing honey- avfkle. Elsie wae busily employed in fusing a bone bazine to her mother’s wasting form, for now they had poverty as well as affliction to battle with. The small salary of four hundred doliare, which Mc. Gray bad received, had ceased the very moment of bie death, and even the last quarterly payment of this had not been made, As economically as they bd always lived, Mr. Gray had found it impossible to to lay aside any of bis salary et the end of the year, for he had-entertained all the ministers, missionaries and lecturers, whose business had led them Larough the village.

“See, mother, how nicely—how beautifully it fits," said Elsie, as she fastened the last hook of the sombre dress.

“It does, indeed, my dear, and how thankful we ought to de that you are able tudo i.” replied her mother.

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