Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhymeChild, Lydia Maria
General
Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhyme
Child, Lydia Maria
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
Thick and fast came in the parting memorials from relatives and
schoolmates; and what showers of tears fell upon them as they were
stowed away in the closely packed chests! That last night at the old
homesteads, oh, how the memories crowded upon those suffocated hearts!
When Alice stole out in the moonlight, and wept, while she kissed the
old elm, from whose boughs she had swung in childhood, she did not know
that the roots were already moistened with Katie’s tears.
To the experienced and the thoughtful, all weddings are solemn
occasions; for when they see the young unmooring their boat from its old
fastenings, and floating away so gaily on the sun-rippled stream, they
know full well that shadows are ahead, and that many a rock lies hidden
under the bright waters. The marriage of William and Alice was solemn
even to sadness; for they were to depart for Kansas on the morrow. The
farewell moment had been so dreaded for days preceding, that all felt as
if it would be a relief to have the agony over. Alice clung to her
parents as the drowning cling. The mother lifted up her voice and wept,
and the old father choked, as he strove to say, “Very pleasant hast thou
been unto me. God bless thee, my child.” But cousin Katie, whose mission
it was to strengthen everybody, came up and pressed their hands, and
said “Good bye, dear uncle; good bye, dear aunt. We’ll make a beautiful
home for you in Kansas; and Willie and Ally will come to bring you to
us.”
As they mounted the wagons, children, who used to attend Mrs. Bradford’s
school, came up with bunches of violets; and the little nephew, who
thought himself such a mighty hunter, called out, “send me a bear!”
“Oh yes, Georgy,” replied Kate. “Will you have him roasted?”
“I want to tie him up in the _darden_, and feed him,” shouted George.
But no one heard him. The wagons had rolled away before he finished the
sentence; and those who watched them forgot that any thing else existed.
The last glimpse of Alice showed her head bowed down on her husband’s
shoulder, her waist encircled by his arm. The last tones of Katie’s
voice had been strong and clear; and no one but her kind-hearted John
saw how the tears rained down on her infant’s face, as they rode through
their native village. They had never fully realized, until now, how
beautiful were the elms in the delicate verdure of spring; how precious
were the golden blossoms profusely strewn over the meadows; how happy
and safe the homes seemed to nestle in the scenery. As they passed the
church, all turned and looked back at that place of pleasant meetings
with relatives, friends and neighbours.
“They will miss our voices in the choir, dear William,” said Alice.
“Yes,” he replied; “but, by the blessing of God, we will sing hymns in
the wilderness, and waken musical echoes among the silent hills.”
“And we will sing ‘Home Sweet Home’ together,” said Alice, with a faint
smile.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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