er for the last time in their earthly home?
Poe's ghastly, grim, and ancient raven seemed to speak the Nevermore; and, alas!
nevermore did we children of that happy circle ever meet again.
As the train gathered itself up in the village of Hurtville, the inky black clouds, flashes of almost blinding lightning, and heavy peals of rolling thunder told that the tempest was unchained.
I still had a distance of fourteen or fifteen miles to travel by the hack before I should reach my school.
But as the storm began to increase so much in violence, I deemed it advisable to remain in Hurtville for the night.
On inquiring for a place to stop at for the night I was directed to Mrs. Hurt, whose spacious mansion and large and beautiful flower yard and grounds stood fair to view from the little village depot.
Hitherto I had passed the village by, in my trips home and back to school again during my vacation days, so that I was altogether a stranger in the home of Mrs. Hurt, but on ma