Page:Female Prose Writers of America.djvu/315

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JANE ELIZABETH LARCOMBE.
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Yet we can remember, when a little child, thinking the twilight hour the gloomiest of the twenty-four—a dark spirit commanding us to give up work or play, and loiter restlessly around the house, till the first welcome glimmer of a light released us from its dismal thraldom. It seemed to us the most particularly unpleasant arrangement of nature to be conceived, and often and often did we wonder ourself stupid, trying to solve the phenomenon.

It was equally puzzling to see with what a spirit of enjoyment the “old folks” settled themselves comfortably in their easy chairs, and with eyes fixed on the fading heavens, seemed soaring away from earthly cares and joys. Instinctively we felt that mirth and mischief must be postponed to a more convenient season.

When we grew older, wise enough to contrive, we got along much better; the gathering gloom of evening was the signal for a general muster; out we flew from the quiet parlour to the dim hall and passages, where, with stifled shouts and shrieks of mysterious merriment, we indulged in all the excitement of a game at hide and seek, or, when tired out, gathered in a compact knot at the foot of the stairs, and with elbows on our knees, heads supported by our hands, and eyes widely dilated, listened to the delicious horrors of some marvellous tale of ghost or ogre. Such stories! no one else ever dreamed of such delights! Such giants as we had! such fairies! such a quantity of winding-sheets as our favourite narrator provided for us!—our brother, with his wide, smiling mouth, and glistening teeth! We can see him now, his rosy face ever in a perpetual grin, even while skilfully depicting scenes which made “each individual hair to stand on end” among his entranced audience! Our brother!—“gone, but not lost.”

Sometimes, too, of a winter’s evening, we found our way into the warm, bright, cozy kitchen, bringing our noise and mirth with us, which was speedily quelled, however, through the influence of the presiding spirit of the place—a tidy, thrifty servant girl, who loved us all dearly—troublesome as we were—and who, despite her unattractive appearance, stole a place for herself in our kind memories. She was an Irish girl, with features strongly marked

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