Library Collections: Document: Full Text

We have our preferences as well for things as persons. Of all the trees on these grounds I love most this branching mulberry; it shades me oftenest when the sun is bright, and when the night dews are heavy on its leaves, it covers still my brow, till long after the moon has waned and many stars have set. Oh, never breathe to human ear thy sorrow, but soothe thy grief in humble prayer; and when thy full heart goes up to Heaven, let none but spirits hear.

My hand has become a perfect truant, placing the letters now on one side of the line, and now on the other; to remedy this we use a grooved card under the paper and write with a pencil, which accounts for the strange-looking sheet I send you. Not long since I heard D. T. --- say in a sermon, "it is a principle of our nature to prize that highest we are most troubled to get;" no matter, then, if you are puzzeled a little to decipher these erratic words.

Four weeks ago our school closed; and a party of some fifty went on board the Santa Claus for Albany, thence by the cars to their respective residences. Others on the same day left for their homes in New-York and its vicinity, till very, very few were left. Night came, and the halls and corridors, so accustomed to echo with merry laugh and tread, and sounds of music, from the large organ down to the trumpet whistle, were all silent; and departure seemed whispered every where. Little Henry, who ran back to the sick room once more to say good-by to poor Jakey, was unfortunately left. When he returned to the lower hall, behold, the omnibuses were far away, and nothing could call them back or stay their progress. We tried to comfort him, but all his full heart could say was, "I want to go home."

The moon was on the hills, the stars came out, and the shades of night had fallen beautifully on all the weary world; we were sleeping forgetful and happy, when suddenly the spacious dormitory, the chapel, and all the empty rooms were filled with sweet sounds, which seemed pouring in at the windows and sifting down from among the trees. "What is it, and where is it?" every one starting up, almost wondering if the spirits of the Blind had not come back to serenade those they had left. "The Bird Waltz," says one, as its chirpings were echoing every where; it was none other than the Christies themselves, gathered among the firs in the front yard to give our loneliness a serenade. They played long and beautifully. Lovely May and other of their Ethiopian songs were never half so sweet, for which we could make them no compliments. We had no bouquets to toss them, no lamps to light, and could only enjoy their music in silence; but when our quick ears followed their departing footsteps, our love and gratitude would have turned their harps to gold, such as minstrels wake beyond the sky.

In the morning, as each seemed to know better the feelings of the other, we were more silent, and our breakfast had little relish. One after another left the dining-room, till, when the moment came for the bell, there were none to dismiss. I took my portfolio and came to this favorite tree. Presently the girls began to pass, walking as usual, two and two, with their arms encircling each other's waist, for the mutual protection it affords. Says one to her mate, "During vacation I will teach you six songs, with the symphonies and accompaniments, if you will teach me those Herz's Exercises you know, and some pieces of Mozart and Haydn." "Agreed," was the reply; "I will tell you one of them now, and then we will go and practise it." Said another, "When I finish my spread, I'm going to knit a purse and bag to send to my aunt." Another, "I shall knit nothing but star and oak-leaf tidies this vacation, and one coat for a Present to little Georgie;" so they went on, "innocent creatures," crossing again and again the angling walks, some counting the positions and bars of music, some planning pastimes and others wondering who of their mates had reached Home.

"Come, sit you down here, girls," said I, "and I will tell you a story, if you please." "Oh! good, good," exclaimed every one, and in a moment they were all planted upon the green sward, in the best listening mood possible. I told them the tale of "Aunt Mercy," after which we arranged to meet every morning, and I was to repeat, as well as memory could bring it back, a chapter of Warren's "Now and Then," which Mr. Hastings read to me last winter. Then each in her turn promised to do the same from some volume which she had heard. Little Jenny begged to be excused, said she never could keep awake the reading hour, and had forgotten all the stories she ever heard. Caty complained that it always took all her time to keep Helen still, so she had heard none of the reading matter either. Unless she could think of something better, Mary proposed treating us to some of Wilson's "Tales of the Border." Maggie spoke of some chapters from. the "Diary of a Physician," but, said she, they all end so sadly.