The Daguerreotype

"Look, grandmother!--a picture of our old home. Isn't it natural?"
exclaimed Lena, as she ran back to the parlor.

Yes, it was natural, and the old lady's tears gushed forth the moment
she looked upon it. There was the well, the garden, the gate
partially open, the barn in the rear, now half fallen down, the
curtain of the west window rolled up as it was wont to be, while on
the doorstep, basking in the warm sunshine, lay a cat, which Mrs.
Nichols' declared was hers.

"John ought to see this," said she, wiping the tears from her eyes,
and turning towards the door, which at that moment opened, admitting
her son, together with Mr. Graham, who had accidentally called.
"Look here, John," said she, calling him to her side--"Do you
remember this?"

The deep flush which mounted to John's brow, showed that he did, and
his mother, passing it toward Mr. Graham, continued: "It is our old
home in Massachusetts. There's the room where John and Helleny both
were born, and where Helleny and her father died. Oh, it seems but
yesterday since she died, and they carried her out of this door, and
down the road, there--do you see?"

This question, was addressed to Mr. Graham, who, whether he saw or
not, made no answer, but walked to the window and looked out, upon
the prospect beyond, which for him had no attractions then. The
sight of that daguerreotype had stirred up many bitter memories, and
for some time he stood gazing vacantly through the window, and
thinking--who shall say of what? It would seem that the
daguerreotype possessed a strong fascination for him, for after it
had been duly examined and laid down, he took it in his hand,
inspecting it minutely, asking where it was taken, and if it would be
possible to procure a similar one.