The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1870-10-21

IN Lle person OF WIFI -Steele-nO6 Will
the sailing party after all-whO saun-
tered slowly up, arnl-ifl-arm with ms
friend Tom Burns, whom he had coax
ed from his dingy office to spend q
night with him at the beach. just on.
the other side Of the rock. they paused.
Unable to run away without ObserVa-
ton, Ethel sat still, while the perfume
of their cigars was tossed to her on the
wings of the salt breeze.s ~ - fsr,e
"They told me at BurtOn's that you
were going it strong with certain rich
Miss Stanley here" said Tom, "but
insisted that it could be nothing more
than fiirtatiOn.n - @>'f-@'A
There was no answer.
" Why, Writ, old fellow yed haV MT
gone back on little Mysie ?''
"Mysie and were never engaged, ~
was the reply in an evasive tone.
= But hearts are supposed by the un-
initiated to have more subtle methods
of communication than by Wprds.2' -
''See here, Tom Burns ~ said Writ
with sudden heat, s. didn't ask you
here to catechise me - y ..f-.....-
i beg your pardon, Writ won't.
You and have been friends too long
to quarrel. Let's talk of something
apleasantern ~ -Ess- - 3 so 3 Es7Al-
: 4" That's like you, Tom. You always
remember the l'sOft answeFli we used
to scribble in our eopy-bOOks. 1t was I
who was in fault-but the thought OF
Mysie touched me- But you may as
well know the worst of me, as you al
ways have known. j am afraid l do
remember Mysie great deal too well.
was a fool ever to let myself care for
her, since can't marry her. Dear lit
tie thing and / do believe she likes
me. You know how she has been
brought up. Why, Tom! my whole
salary wouldn't dress her, and she has
not a cent Of her own. What could l
do? A braver fellow than I am might
dig and delve, and hang by his fOrlOrn
hope, till he was grays L shall do no
such thing. have made up my mind
to cut the knot of my destiny by mar
rying Ethel Stanley handsome as an
Indian queen, and after Mysie, the
sweetest-tempered girl know, but
above all, wortRa66ol fifty'thOus4nd." 4"
"If I ca can, ny yes. But the worst Of it is
to look into Ethel Stanley's eyes-the
truest eyes, Tom-and see Mysie's face
come between. l feel sometimes"
The two young meh were walking on
now, and Ethel heard no more. -.
Once more, poor Ethel Around
her was-alI that had made the world
beautiful and life so pleasant, but the
| soul had gone out of her hope, and left
I her gazing on its Ineless body, with a
strange self-pity very sad in. one so
| young. Was it not enough to be jeal-
| OusIy misconstrued in the truest impuI-
ses of her nature p her very love,
| motherless as she was, for her mothers
| friend, traduced as the. servile fiattery
| of fortune-hunter? Must her humil-
| iation be completed by hearing from
4l,r - El,;f ,,,es, Rod n 4
7 ready touched her fancy, and might
have won her heart, this cool confession
that he sought her not for herself, but
| for the paltry gold, from which, ever
/ in thought, she now sshrank with bit
| ter IoathiRg2 o --
! With the swift, unreaSOning general
/ izatiOn of youth, she saw the whole
! world hollow and false, fair eXpanse
full of snares and pitfalls for weary
| feet. The near hum of life in the par
| Iors where she had been so gay, came
to her ears and made her shudder. Yet
soon in her sharpest pang-sO sharp
| because it was her first experience o
| what must sometime add in some way
! come to us all-this- child of a faithful
ancestry looked uT to the great, blue
vault of the sky, lit by the tender radi
ance of the stars, and felt that these, a
least, were true, and that beyond then
there was God. The ripples crep
whispering along the sand at her feet
and with the strange dOuble-cOnsciOus
ness which often moves parelleI will
extreme mental suffering, apprOpriat
ing in its course the most acute impres
sI0ns of outward things, and connect
ing them with some latent memOrie
Of the past, she remembered the OF
vacation spent with Nellie Dudley il
| her home among the Berkshire hills
and the sound like this, half rush, hal
rustic, which their flying feet had mad
amid the heaps of early lallen Autumn
| leaves. That was years ago, and Mel
/ lie never went back 20 school. Darlin
/ Nell She had the letter yet, with TIA
long, golden curl, which the stricke
grandparents had sent to her frOr
their desolate home, after the first snoV
had fallen on a little neW-made grave
The paper, she knew, was yellow an
= =blOtted over with tears, but this ser
tence in its Old-fashioned character
was as dear to the eyes of her memory
, as when it had just come to her, a mes
sage out of the unreturning past 4:
F'She spoke of you very often, an
never more tenderly than the mornin
she died. I want you to cut off tn
, curl,' she said, and send it to Eth,
with my dear love. She liked to I
: here, and sometime she will come hel
: again, and see you for my sake !" g
Ethel sprang up with sudden, irr
L sistible impulse. The Welcome tn;
= had waited her so long "for Nellie
e sad," would be none the less warm, 81
knew, because, tired and heart-sicl
, she claimed it for her own as WELL
L She would go! she would not eve
5 wait to write to her only relative, IL
uncle who had been her guardian
7 | Deep in his stocks and mortgages,
t would not matter much to him whe
she went, if only she were safe al
t happy. His house, grand and col
e had never been a real home 10 Etht
y coming to it as she had for years, on
70 spend an occasional vacation, al
. going away again more than half 81;
e to escape the indef1nable chill whit
w the stately courtesy of her aunt al
= cousins shed upon her frank, impulsi
y nature.
Mrs. Fitz Marian would wonder al
expostulate at her sudden >desertio
/ and she would end, as she always d
l. by winning over the dear old lady
/ the side of her on. u desire. @Al
It With Ethel, to think was to act a
le with her heart lighter already, she r
e away to her. own room, to prepare
u the morroW's packing.
" "A little old-fashioned village nestli
= among pine-clads hills, Just high enou
e? to give the sense of loving protect
* without the gland loveliness VIII
e. loftier heights insL ire; sung to by
a cherry little river, which played
asa laide-and-seek under its quaint cOVel
1c bridges, and emerging again, ran h
DO and there through the valley W
be pretty aiTnlessness, unprofaned by |
ed dust an din OF railroad travel, for
of station was miles away, and the
ed tant scream of the locomotive by
a contrast only made the Summer qI
he deeper;-it was this that Ethel S
ut from the high seat Of the light was
sTT-i /, g.