The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1868-04-29
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ai.e ~, aIy hro,,rht down my writing desk.
SILL s...s rere some sheets Of paper and some
. 49, envelopes which had been there for
u ,sn,,hs stored within, and 9 silver pen and
l n,n,on.bandle which had been d birthday pre-
s ps in my school-days.
look them out, and the ink-bottle also.
The ink was thick, for we did not write
mnch-either of us-and / brought the
vinegar craet from the closet, and Trimmed it
to my liking. Then / sat down and looked
at the paper. Then ] went to the stairs and
listened to see that mother was not coming.
Then actually seated myself, squared my
elbows, and began to write. This is what !
wrote:
Dear 1fiss 1farioa,,I am coward.
Not, | hope, in one sense, but certainly as
regards you. For year have loved you.
Yet would no more have dared to say 80
than would had you been queen. Per-
haps because do not cherish o hope that
you like me.
Tomorrow you and will ride together.
Tomorrow had made up my MIND to try
my fate, but | know | shall not dare to
speak, 50 / write. I will give you this let
ter to read at home. If the answer be
sNo,'' it will be easier for both Of lis. Will
YOU try and think we'll enough Of me to be
my wife one day
I love you better than do my life, and |
will do al man can to make life happy for
you. With little hope can make my
way in the world as other men do. l am
young and strong, and not utterly ignorant.
II am to have that hope, give me some
sign-give q line-your name only-any-
thing to show me what you mean. If | am
to be miserable, we'll, then, make me no an
swcr. Silence shall be "No." 1could not
bear to sec you or to speak to you after
that.
This is an awkward love letter, no
doubt. am not used to writing letters of
any kind of late never wrote OF said
word of love to any one before. That must
be it's excuse. But were it ever SO elegant,
il could not mean more, for offer all the
love in my heart The only love have
ever felt or shall ever know.
ALMoN CRAIG.
/ sealed this note in the daintiest en-
yelope possessed, and wrote Hepsy Har-
rows name on the back, and hid it in the
desk from mothers eyes; sharp eyes, that
looked after me anxiously as l drove away
the following evening.
She was ready FOR me. My mothers hint
was in my mind, and looked at her dress.
All discovered was that it was blue; but
her furs were good could judge of furs.
s:She must marry a rich man, or one on
his way wealthward," l said. She shall,
too. I've more to start with than Wash
ington had" And tucked her into. the
sleigh and drove off to the meeting.
1t was pleasant drive, and merry
dance and supper; but as the time went on
l felt glad that had written the letter; for
1 could not have said what it said for me.
1t was ct the last moment, when we were
driving homeward, that mustered courage
to ask her for the little riticule she carried,
as the other girls did, with brush and
some flowers in it, think /; for they had to
touch up the curls and braids after the
windy ride before the dance.
"Why do you want it ?' she asked.
"To put something in it, which you must
not look at till you reach home," l said.
"You arouse my curiosity" she answer
ed. 81 shall look the instant | have
lamp
And as she spoke, had dropped in the
letter and snapped the clasp.
Not word more could speak. But at
the door I tried, for the first time, to kiss
her. Her lips eluded mine, and | dared
not repeat the attempt.
I took the red sleigh home, and waited
waited hopefully, as knew afterwards-for
an answer. None came-a day, q week,
MONTH Then all the hope was over. | had
seen her. She had given me little, cold,
on, II a1ecs hnw 7 was rniected
Mother" I said that night, Eve must
have some one to farm the place. I'm going
to some city,"
"Why?;' she said.
"To make my fortune | said.
{" For that girl, the school ma'am?'' ask
ed my mother, bitterly.
{" No. said "neyer for her."
"She didn't dare refuse you?" she said.
{: Boy, know you are in trouble. I'm
your mother. Tell"
"She did not accept me-" said.
THE naughty mink !" said my mother.
Ell" Then she burst into tears.
And that's to part us ?" she said.
ssNot if you'll go with me-" I answered.
But she would not leave her home, and I
went alone. In the frosty morning, as |
turned to look back at the little village from
the top of the old stage, saw the little chill
dren filing in at the school-house door, and
caught glimpse Of Hepsy's dress beyond
only fold of her dress, but knew it. The
school-bell was ringing; but it did not say
"Turn again to me, as it should have
done had / been such prophet as Whit
tington.
| made my fortune. | had cousin in
New York who was deep in the mysteries Of
Wall street. He helped me; so did luck or
fate. In FIVE years | was moderately rich
man. My mother wanted nothing but my
presence. She would not come to me, but
she urged ME to return to her.
At first my heart WAS too weak to be
trusted among those old familiar scenes.
To have met Hepsy would have been too
much to bear. But time helps us all. AT
the end of FIVE years wrote to my mother:
q am coming home again, since you will
not live here with me. Expect Inc to-mor
row.
And on the morrow went. My mother
had not altered much. But had grown
long, light beard, and was youth no
longel-a fact which troubled her. There
were changes in the place, too. Girls were
married-old ~"oplc dead. The tallest,
handsomest .siui. remembered had met
with an accident, and crawled about a
wretched cripple. The church was rebuilt,
and the huts in the hollow had been burnt.
A factory had risen, and the factory peo-
ple's houses were about it. Instead Of the
old frame school-house was brick build
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