Hath dimmed the brightness of my sky,
I’ve “dug” my grave, and found too late
I’ve chased an echo here—to die!
SKETCHES OF LIFE IN OUR VILLAGE.
NO. I.—WHAT THERE WAS TO LIKE IN HATTIE ATHERTON.
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BY GIFTIE.
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“You seem to have a great deal to say lately about this Miss Hattie Atherton,” said my brother, looking up from his book as I entered the parlor, after escorting to the door a friend who had been making me a morning call.