PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.
THE MIRROR-ROOM.
BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
Ir had gone to sleep in the sunshine, tho ; old-fashioned chaire and sofas reared their high, old, aad-colored, wood-covered house, stained carven backs, and stood up tall and straight, by summer showers, battered by wintor elorms.< like sentiuels. .A strauge,.mummy-like odor Down through the shadowing trees sifted, like} exhaled from the quaiut Indian cabinets of san- fiue gold, a rain of sunlight, The hot June dul-wood and ivory. Above all, an enormous day had flushed the earth with ita dismaying } mirror, neurly filling one end of the apartment, splendors. Red, old fashioned garden roses { lent » peculiar aspect of glamoury to the weird choked the paths and perfumed the nir in the { placo, and reminded ono of those magic mirrors rambling old garden back of tho rambling old \ wherein the wizards of other days were wont to house. Fall shrubs, dusky with leafy twilights, ‘ reveal the secrets of many a turbulent life, In and ddorous with pale blossoms, leaiied against § front of this mirror I used to sit, hulf-fancying the garden wall; and among them, with a low ; that I saw in its depths the forefathers and fore- hum, went birds whose glittering, bright-hued § mothers of my race—young forms with roses on wings fluttered to temperate New England { their browa, love-light in their eyes, youth and strange hints of the tropics. } buoyance waiting on their footsteps—still many.
I had come to Silent Shades, as the old place fa year ago and cold, and sleeping well under was called. because I wanted a breathing epace. | snow-shroud or turf of emerald; but alive yet in Iwas tired of the city. The brick walls seemed } the old mirror—moving with roft steps, gleam- to shut in my soul, The June heat stifled me. {ing with youth and beauty, lore and hope.
I longed for dewy grasa to cool my feet; for} This apartment was ealled the Mirror-Room. sunsets, and singing birds, and rogos. went in there on the June morning of which
“There is Silent Shades,” my mother sug- {I write. The alill beauty'out-of-doora had ovor- gested, ns Iwas sighing for a retreat where I; powered mo. Jt seemed to me that the flowers could dream, be idle, and enjoy pasvively to my { basking in the moonlight gave forth a danger. heart’s content. “Your grandmother would} ous sweetness, The sun looked at.me with » welcome you gladly. There is your aunt Win- | warmth too burning—-a presion whose blinding nifred, to be sure, but you would not see much } leat seemed fateful. I took refnge in the mystic of her.” yoom with its cool shadows. I drew one of the
So to Silent Shades I had come, I had seni fashioned carten chairs in: front of the here only a woek, and slready it seemed home- { gleaming depths of erystel, and, vat there try- like and pleasant to me beyond any ploce I had Ling to penetsate my own future—watching the ever known. I Jored to roam about the ram-} shadows of my dreams come and go in the bling old rooms, coming unexpectedly, at every { magic mirror. tarm, to some quaint little nook I had never§ Suddenly the touch of s hand startled me. I seen before; some oriet window looking out {bed heard no step, but the cold Singers rested ‘pon rere vistas of beauty; some closet thation my shoulder. I felt them, through the thin you could fancy had been built for an oratory. } muslin which J wore, like the tonch of the dend.
One room, in particular, was my delight.}T dared not turn my head, but looking into the
" ‘The shutters were always closed, All the sun-{ mirror I saw, a little above me, the face of my
light that was there stole in through their {aunt Winnifred. It was a strange face. Every chinks, and only served to enhance instead of feature was high-bred and deliente, There wera illuminate the dimuess end mystery. The great, } no wrinkles—ano lines, such a2 Time poncils like
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