Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 6, December 1852Various
General
Graham's Magazine, Vol. XLI, No. 6, December 1852
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
It was on a pleasant evening in June that, by the open window of
Georgiana Lincoln’s apartment, Grace Bartlett was sitting languidly. Her
thoughts were evidently of the past--for at intervals the faint color
would fade from her cheeks, and an expression of deep mental pain pass
over her countenance--her soft eyes assuming a fixed look, as if her
remembrances were fraught with agony. As she sat in the dim twilight in
that state, her thoughts broke forth into pensive song, and she almost
unconsciously chanted the words,
Oh, the home of my childhood! my desolate heart!
Its merciless loss bids the warm tears to start.
Her voice gradually died away, and by degrees she closed her eyes and
slumbered. And now naught was heard save the gentle breeze waving the
branches outside the window near which she reclined. But ere her tones
ceased, they had reached other ears.
Charles Lincoln had stretched his lazy length on one of the couches in
the balcony below; and those musical tones came to him laden with
associations of other days--of a brief but transient period of bliss.
With a magic power they arrested his attention, and he continued to
ponder on them long after they had ceased, until he was filled with an
ardent curiosity to behold once more the young stranger of whom he had
caught a glimpse on the evening of his return, and whose position in his
father’s house had afterward been described to him by his sister.
Whilst his curiosity was thus at work, his sister approached him,
accompanied by the young officer above referred to, with whom she had
been enjoying an evening stroll.
“Georgiana,” said her brother, starting up to meet her, and drawing her
aside, “can you not prevail on your fair colonial guest to appear at the
masquerade this evening? I am dying to see her, for the melody of her
voice, just now wafted to my ears on the air, has reminded me of one who
was dear to me, and is lost forever. I would fain hear its tones in
conversation.”
“I have heretofore refrained from urging it on poor Grace to appear in
the drawing-room,” replied the young lady; “she seemed so averse to the
mention of such a thing. But I have do doubt that I could bring her
yielding nature to comply, if I were to put the effort in the light of a
favor toward me, whom she loves as a sister. It might do her good, too,
poor thing, if she could only be induced to make the exertion. It shall
be as you wish, dear brother; you may depend upon me.”
A few hours afterward more than ordinary excitement was passing in the
mansion. A masquerade was given to the officers--and the scene was gay
and picturesque. The main wing was lighted up, and gay with the
festivities. The sounds of merriment and laughter were heard.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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