3o8 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



killed the snake, and went away. When she had 

 filled her small pail, she lifted the venomous reptile, 

 hung it upon her shoulder, and carried it home! If 

 one of its exposed fangs had come in contact with 

 her tender skin, little Eve would have had an ex- 

 perience even more tragical than that which befell 

 her first ancestress. 



I first saw the young girl when she had not 

 reached the age of fifteen, was just emerging from 

 little-girlhood into young-womanhood. It was at 

 a reception party given to me as "the new editor." 

 There was much merriment in a little circle in one 

 corner of the parlors, and I heard a young lady 

 addressed as "Kitty Clover," and noticed that the 

 one so spoken to was very young, and as I thought, 

 very pretty. Near three years drifted by, when, as 

 Bayard Taylor says, the lightest heart made heavi- 

 est mourning. Her father died. Her adored 

 mother was fast following him. It could not be 

 long till the young girl would be alone in the world. 

 So the death that had so recently been, and the 

 death that was so soon to be, hastened us. I often 

 carried that dear and most saintly mother about in 

 my arms, and she was very happy — a happier death 

 could not be. Her child was not parted from her. 

 That was a blessed day when I lifted her into our 

 first cottage home. It is not possible that a decline 

 to the end could have had more light in it. Her last 

 words were : ' ' My sweet child, I am very, very happy. " 



The half of one short year brought such trans- 



