Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 August 1893 — MUSINGS OF A MIRROR. [ARTICLE]

MUSINGS OF A MIRROR.

Chicago Newt. ‘ ~ Here I stand in this old shop, surrounded by all sorts of east-off furniture. The carvings on my frame are etched in gray with the dust of many years and the brilliancy of my face is partially gone, giving me an appearance anything but like the reflective beauty of-my youthful days. My owner’s customers do not speak of me in enthusiastic praise, as they do of these bld spinningwheels and grand-father’s clocks around me, for lam not quite old enough to be considered valuable as an “antique,” and still my history may be as interesting as that of my-fellow-objects. Away back in the years I stood in the boudoir of a beautiful maiden. Daily she looked into my face and I in return scanned her closely and saw that her sweet face was the truthful outward indication of a beautiful mind and true heart. I watched her progress from girlhood to womanhood as one would note the gradual unfolding of a bud into the half-blown blossom. My Gladys was one of those magnetic creatures who unconsciously attract everyone with whom they come in contact; her friends were innumerable and her girlhood passed with only happiness and freedomfroffi care. It did not seem strange to me knowning as I did the beauty and goodness of Gladys, that many /lovers should come to woo her. One May day when all nature/s creatures were awakening with new life and the trees and vines about the old home were donning new coats of green, she came to me and as the beautiful eyes looked into my face I saw that something unusual had happened. Always bright and happy, Gladys was never more so than now; a tender light shone in her eyes. I saw her take from her bosom a letter, which she read slowly then pressed to her lips. “Ah!” I thought, “I have seen tnls experience come into other maidens, perhaps to mark the beginning of their greatest happiness and again. * * Well —my prayer is that this dear girl may know love only as a blessing.” As time passed my wish was most abundantly fulfilled. I could see the expression of perfect trust and content upon her face and knew that her lover was in every way worthy of her. ? That summer passed with a fleetness never before known by those happy lovers. From the window opposite which I stood I could see them, now strolling through the shady wood on the other side of the road’ again on horseback, cantering along the shady bridle paths; sometimes with a gay party of young friends, but more often those two alone. But, alas! there came a day when trouble forced his unwelcome presence upon them and wove about them his threads of suspense and perplexity, until their meshes were so closely latticed there seemed to be no way out. Hope forsook them and the happy light died out of her eyes. War, cruel war, whose muttered threats we had long striven to forget, had at last begun to execute his terrible promises. For months complications had been arising and our once peaceful country was transformed into a woful state of dissension. Even in our quiet little village, so secluded from the noise and turmoil of the world, we began to hear mutterings of terrible things. Before we realized the terrible truth that war was upon us, mustering officers came and after a day or two left, bearing upon their rolls the names qf our brighest and bravest men. Gladys’ lover was among the number of loyal men who are willing if necessary, to sacrifice all for their country’s sake. One gloomy day she came into her room and as she passed me I saw that her eyes were heavy and tremulous with tears; the look of misery on her face I shall never forget. She seemed to be in the deepest despair. I knew at once that the day of sorrow had come —Gladys and her lover had parted —perhaps for ever. “I would not have you otherwise than loyal, dear,” she had said to him; “but it is agony —this struggle between our patriotism and our love for each other.”

In his reply there seemed an effort to be hopeful. “Sweetheart, I will surely return. Then think of our joy in a future together.” “I cannot believe it. My heart tells me that I shall never see you again," she sorrowfully replied. His words of hope and comfort were of no avail, and with her heart crushed with haunting forebodings the last sad words of farewell were spoken, vows of eternal fidelity exchanged, and he was gone. None but I knew of the nights of grief she passed in secret. How in utter hopelessness she would moan: “Oh; my heart is broken!" I often wished that I might lose my brightness so that I could not reflect her sad, sweet face and remind her of her trouble. So often I have beard old people say to the young. “Now is your happy time. You will never be as free from trouble as you now are.” What a mistake! Youth has its troubles and they fall so heavily. Ripened years and their attendant experiences teach the lesson of rest ignation. Youth struggles to escape the learning. i I hoped so earnestly that Gladys might again be the happy girl of yore, and that even the memory of

her grief might be effaced by the joyful return of het soldier lover. Now and then cheering Tetters would come, and for a long time she seemed more like her old, happy self.. , .. Oh, that I could blot from my iny memory that awful day when the news of a terrible battle reached us and we read the names of our noblest men among the killed and wounded. The words spoken by Gladys, so sadly prophetic on that day of farewell, were realized. She would never again* see her loVer in this world. True, she might look upon his earthly body, but his soul and heart, plighted to her, she must not know again until in “the life to come.”

They brought his poor, wounded body home wrapped in the colors which he had so bravely defended. Sind in the village churchyard, where he and Gladys had so often strolled on the peaceful Sabbath, they buried him. After the first great wave of anguish had swept over her face she seemed greatly changed. The radiance was gone forever from her face, but in its place was an expression of gentle resignation.

-The thought of a day to come when she and her lover would be reunited in that happy land where death, the cruel separator of loving hearts has no power to enter, was a sweet and comforting one. It was this belief that made her life worth living and heaven a more tangible, realistic thing than her former visionary idea of the hereafter.

Sorrow did not make Gladys selfish; her time was spent in devotion to others. How many weary, sick and poverty stricken people were helped by her gentle words of encouragement, tender sympathy and substantial aid none will ever know but God. Often when weary with her labors of the day I would see her reading and musing over an old letter. I noticed that there were curious reddish stains upon the paper; then I knew that Gladys was living over in momory the happy and sad times before this unfinished letter had reached her in the unexpected sad way. They had found it on the bosbm of her dead lover and these last penciled words were words of undying affection for her. Of later years I saw Gladys but rarely, for I had been removed to an attic chamber, whqre, for want of communication with the present and its happenings, I was left to ponder on the past. At last a day came when I was rudely awakened from my reverie and I gradually realized that I was to leave the old home forever.

Then I was carried down-stairs into the hall I remembered of having passed through when I was brought into the house years before —a handsome new mirror then, and very ornamental. As the men were taking me out of the door I again saw my Gladys and I rejoiced greatly, for I had feared I was never to see her again. In the fleeting glimpse of her I saw that her beautiful tendfer eyes were still the same, but the dusky tresses I remembered so well were changed. Time had whitened them with the touch of his frosty fingers, but the change had only enhanced her beauty. I thought I saw an expression of regret pass over her face. Was she thinking of the days of her youth and happiness and how closely we had been associated in that glad time?

I love to think so and believe she was sad to see me taken away. Well they brought me to this dusty shop. People as they pass me say: “What an old-fashioned mirror!” and do not hesitate to remind me that my days of usefulness are gone forever. But I do not mind it, I have been accorded a great privilege in my time, one not often bestowed upon these animate objects that pass me by so indifferently, but if bestown the priviis not appreciated. I have beheld one of the rarest attributes of the human soul —constancy.