Urbana union. [volume] (Urbana, Ohio) 1862-1872, 1871-04-12
STRANDED.


THE old American University town OF
Cambridge-Old in its gigantic elms, in
its college halls, its legends Of the May
fiower-lay hushed and deserted under
the June sun Of its annual clRss.daY.
On none had that days sun risen war
mer or brighter than on Luke Conner,
to whom had fallen the chief University
honors Of this year. On none would it
go down more darkly, or the stormy
night following descend more mercil-
essly. -.---.---
Life had been bounteous to this young
man in many ways. It had given him
wealth and energy and superb physical
health. He was long ago an orphan;
yet his youth had lacked no love.
To-day he stood surrounded by grave
professors and friends, Ike Saul among
his brethern, taller and fairer than
they. Yet he was to go out from that
old college-hall, from among those who
had loved and given him such honors,
with aliens curse upon him; and while
mems praises were loudest, and his life
seemed to them to open up before him
in q longvista of triumph, the shadow of
the curse came and covered him.
The assembly broke up. Professors,
trustees, seniors, and friends dropped of,
one by one; but the student still fingered
uncertainty in the old college hall, turn
ing often to look fuytively behind him,
as if he felt some presence there which
might be real, or only incorporal air.
But whatever was real in that scene
then, was to him all dim and intangible.
It was all over at length, and, as he
saw the last of the crowd leave the hall,
he mechanically moved away; if he had
any thought at all, it was to be quite
alone. In few minutes he was in the
long college-walk; to his left rose up
! the granite shaft Of Bunker Hill, and be.
fore him the glittering dome Of Boston
| Court house. Some of his friends stand
| ing in his way accosted him; but he did
not notice them, and passed on. It was
not an idle fancy which made him feel
that all the mornings sunshine had
gone out of the air; he looked up at the
sky, and saw that it was clouded over
and threatened a storm. That was all
he remarked, until he found himself in
! the Cambridge Road, entangled in a
mass Of horses and vehicles, and that
people were crying out to him to move
aside. ExtricRtinR himself, he walked
on the boarded path under the huge
elms, diIuly aware Of his name being
called and of people speaking eheeriIy
to him; but he did not stop to reply, pur-
suing his way, dogged, he fancied, by
some devil of disaster,
At the door of one Of the most anei.
ent of Beacon street houses he entered;
but before closing it after him, he turn.
ed quickly, looking over his shoulder
again, thinking the pursuing shadow
must be there. It was an idle fancy;
and, thinking still, as he ascended the
great uncarpted stairWsy, how idle it
was, he entered g large, square room,
Wsinseoted to the ceilings in black, carv-
ed walnut, having spacious tileed fire.
! place, over which hung the high man
! tlepiece, sombre with the smoke and
ashes Of a century, its carved griflns'
heads throwing curious shadows on the
! floor. About him, loosely streWn on ta-
| bles, brackets, shelves, and pedestals.
/ all the ages of art seemed to have left
some token. There were rare pictures
and marbles, curious bronzes and gro
! tesque old carvings in ivory and wood,
old weapons and quaint furniture of ma
| hOgany, velvet-cushioned and blacken-
ed with age. AnUnWhOlesOme room, at
the sunniest Of times; most of all so
when the clouds were black, as they
were now, with an impending storm. A
wood fire blazed upon the hearth, for the
northeast wind blew up coldly from the
bay. He had only seated himself before
it, in the luxurious depths of his cush-
ioned chair, for moment, when he
was startled by knock at his door. He
cried out inpatiently, Come in = and
q servant entered, handing him q letter,
He took it from the mans hand, shut
him out, closed and locked the door.
He read the letter to the end, and
did not cry out, nor utter any word
Of hurt or pain; but the agony on his
face was piteous to see. Then the shad-
oW that had entered there, fell at last,
and held the man, never to leave him
never again to depart from him in all
the coming years, until the sea should
roll over him, and hide him from the
sight of living men. Till then his day
of grace was dead.
The letter told him that his sister, for
whom, he faneied, his love was beyond
all brothers love, was lying dead in the
home her life hadmade beautiful to him;
had died cOnfessing an awful wrong. It
was written by his guardian, q man who
had supplied q fathers place, not only
in duty, but in love to the brother and
sister. He was an old man now, and
his story was haltingly, incoherently
told, yet it conveyed to the student a