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"Yes, ma'am, with a little trouble it might be done. They ought to know where he is at Lady Auburn's." "Yes, some of the servants might but how will you get to them?" "That, ma'am, I must find out. It may not be done in one day, or two days, but if you will look every morning under this brick, if there is anything to communicate you will find it there." "You can write and read, then?"
"No, I believe not much, but I wish to know where he is, to write to him; could you find out?" I told her where we had met him, and what had passed. "That was Lady Auburn's," replied she; "he is often there she is our cousin but I don't know where he lives, and how to find him I know not. His name is William Wharncliffe. Do you think you could find him out?"
I shoved my wherry along by the side of the wall, so as to remain unperceived until I was clear of the frontage attached to the cottage; and then, taking my sculls, pulled into the stream; and as I was resolved to see if I could obtain any information at Lady Auburn's, I had to pass the garden again, having shoved my boat down the river instead of up, when I was under the wall.
Auburn's fields and flowers, on the banks of the calm, rippling Charles; and so feel those who visit that simple spot, and rest in thought there amid the vines and roses under the trees. He touched all life to make it better, and humanity will ever be grateful to the Heavens that he lived and sang. By CLARENCE COOK
Beyond the main in Auburn's quiet shade, With those I loved and love my couch be made; Spring's pendant branches o'er the hillock wave, And morning's dewdrops glisten on my grave, While Heaven's great arch shall rise above my bed, When Santa Croce's crumbles on her dead, Unknown to erring or to suffering fame, So may I leave a pure though humble name."
"Not Bessie," Grey thought, and there arose before him a beautiful spot far over the sea, where the headstones gleamed white in the sunlight, and the grass was like velvet to the touch, and flowers were blooming in gay parterres and the birds were singing all day long over Mount Auburn's dead.
Beyond the main in Auburn's quiet shade, With those I loved and love my couch be made; Spring's pendant branches o'er the hillock wave, And morning's dewdrops glisten on my grave, While Heaven's great arch shall rise above my bed, When Santa Croce's crumbles on her dead, Unknown to erring or to suffering fame, So may I leave a pure though humble name."
Time marks wondrous changes; and the city where William Lloyd Garrison lived in "a rat-hole," as reported by Boston's Mayor, now honors Commonwealth Avenue with his statue. And so the sons of Seward's enemies have devoted willing dollars to preserving "that classic face and spindling form" in deathless bronze. And they do well, for Seward's name and fame are Auburn's glory.
Through them I was introduced to Lady Auburn and many others; and I shall not forget the old housekeeper recognising me one day, when I was invited to Lady Auburn's villa. "Bless me! what tricks you young gentlemen do play. Only to think how you asked me for water, and how I pushed the door in your face, and wouldn't let you rest yourself.
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