Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-02-19
EVENING STAR.
THE HOP LESS LOVER:
Or, the Wanderers Tale.

had just arrived in the United States after a
long voyage. Many things were new to me,
and in pursuing my investigations at length
reached the suburbs Of the city. / passed
down street to the verge of the Hudson
river. In this street there was not a single
house The grass had Overgrown every spot,
and the curbstone was almost hidden by the
tall weeds. The street had been laid out the
curbstone put up, and then deserted No
body had built upon it, and looking about me
could not see q single pedestrian in any
part of it. The grasshOppers and the butter.
flies were perfectly at home In this region,
where nature had triumphed over art and sue
cessfully wrested back portion of her empire
| which the latter ha1 stolen from her
| The sun shone brightly upon the waters of
the Hudson, and now and then sloop came
lazily down the tide, her big boom creakinp
as the hands pushed it about to WOO the
breeze. Hoboken Weehawken, and Yonkers
were visible from the spot where stood, and
many dwelling peeped out from behind the
foliage on the other side of the silvery stream
Having taken a brief survey of the beauties
which were presented on every side, reclined
upon the long grass, and listened to the wave
| lets below as they came up with ceaseless
dash against the white strand The occasion
was favorable to reflection. I thought upon
the causes that had made me a wanderer over
the world for the last dozen years-that had
| broken of my association with the friends of
my childhood and youth, and rendered me
1 almost an alien in the land of nv birth.
| Keen was the disappointment that had
| dimmed in my eyes all the lustre of wealth
and worldly honors, induced me to abandon
| the most promising situations, and turning NV
back upon offered preferments, seek amid the
surges Of ocean and the boisterous, thought
less "nurslings Of the storm" oblivion of the
| one mighty woe of my life. 1t was quite i'm.
m afarr al To hat h.
and the baker might say TO me of my choice
of profession" wanted no profession-I
wanted no money. 1 wrote a hasty note TO
my parents, and flung myself on board a ship
bound to Canton. Since then blue waters had
been my home, and had resolved to end NV
days an obscure, unknown, penniless wan
derer of the deep. cared for nobody now,
ana NOBODY cared for me, and as lay along
the banks of the Hudson with the grass and
wild flowers tossing and waving around me, L
| felt that had but little indeed to do with the
world.
At length hearing some voices below, on the
margin Of the river l rose up and looked
about me FOR place, in which I could escape
observation. Over a stone fence was q pile of
fallen masonry, large stones and pillars, part.
ly hidden by the weeds and creeping vines
l cleared the fence at bound, and was soon
wandering over what seemed to be the ruins
of a large mansion
sat down upon green bank and endea-
vored to resumed the thread Of my reflections.
That was not 80 easy though the subject re-
turned, yet the same feelings of pensive sad
ness did not envelope it as they had done
before, like the golden clouds of sunset. giId
Ing the roc Ky peaks of the wessern mountains
The harsh facts Of my early experience stood
out unrelieved by the murmuring sympathies
Of the silver flood and the winged visitants of
the flowers.
shifted my position more than once, until,
getting behind the withered trunk of an i'm.
mense tree, my eyes alighted upon a portion
OF fat stone embedded in the earth, not
three inches from the surface dug away
the earth with sharp stick. and lifted the
stone listlessly and without much expectation
OF finding anything; but when the stone was
falrly removed, L discovered a piece of strong
brown paper. On removing the dirt from
around this, was soon enabled to draw out
OF the earth package carefully tied with
strong twine.
subject OF observation, L speedily cut loose
the fastenings, and opened the package. 1t
was bundle of letters. was a little disap-
pointed but when L opened the letters and
began to read, my interest was fearfully ex-
cited. There could be no mistake; these
letters were in the handwriting Of Maru
Myers, the beautiful, the amiable and fascin-
atlng object Of my early love! They were
addressed to E. l., the rival-the ia
yOred rival, las suppose on whose account
l had become a stranger in the land of my
fathers
As 1 read, my astonishment increased.
These letters, written by Mary Myers, did not
express iove for E. l.. They were
mere testimonials cf friendship. What could
that mean? had always understood that
E-L-, was the lover of Miss Myers. and
NOT sha al his
But what have we here! Another letter.
and written on different paper. open it-I
read. Here are the contents:
"Sir-Yours Of Saturday is before me-
must say that the friendship which L per-
mitted you to express for me, has lived out its
day. and we must be strangers to each other
You did not believe me when said that your
professions of friendship could not take a
deeper tone without offending me. Did you
not know that loved already-that never |
can love again, and that Eugene B pos |
sesses my whole heart"
The lines swan before my eyes, the blood |
gushed to my brain and then went in a tu- |
multi to my heart dreadful sickness seized |
me and L fell prone upon the earth with the |
letter open In my hand.
My mistakenly awful mistake was but too |
apparent. Twelve years had passed since I |
had heard syllable from Mary Myers L |
had never inquired about ber-I had avoided /
all persons who knew her and myself. 1t was |
not then true that she had encouraged another, |
Liars had told me the tale, and had subse-
quently seen Z. L. walking with Miss Myers |
That was g confirmation strong as proofs of |
holy writ" and had fed from society, from |
home, and from her whom loved and who |
loved me, with despair and bitter resentment |
tugging at my heart. Twelve years had |
passed, and by miracle, as it seemed, Mary !
Myers was brought before me again, and |
proved innocent of the charge of inconsis- |
tency -'
1t was long before could recover sufficient |
strength to stand upon my feet. saw the |
sun 60 down in cloudiess sky, and yet was |
unable to- leave the spot where L had found |
the letters. 1t was near midnight before I |
reached my boarding house.
Where was Mary Myers? This was the
great question that agitated me while on my |
way home. Twelve years had passed since I |
saw her, and yet she was constant, faithful, at |
the time left New York, and embraced the |
life of a common sailor. Had my incognito |
been so well kept that even she, devoted as |
she was, could not discover me / had been |