Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1873-07-09


10 was not the fashion Of those days to
take wedding trips, for travelling was not
the easy thing it is now. The bridal couple
went ct once to their own home. Gay peo-
pie Of the world gave large wedding parties,
and the more serious minded had, perhaps,
few tea.drinkngs But Edmund and |
did have wedding trip. The iron-gray
horse took us over the same road we had
so rayly travelled two months before, by
the green fields and through the spicy woods,
down into the Valley Of Death.
Neither Of us caught the fever. We
were wonderfully sustained and preserved
in our labors for the bodies and souls Of
those poor people, but shall never forget
the fearful scenes Of that postilence. This
terrible visitation was followed by great
revival Of religion, and harvest Of souls
was gathered into the church. We were
not the only ones moved to 60 there and
nurse the sick. We had soon been joined
by few pious men and women.
When we returned TO Tregoin the autumn
Richard was gone. lie had removed to
this city aud opened here dry-gooisstore.
A few years after, Edmund set up in bust
ness here but by that time Richard had
driftod entirely away from us into another
religious denomination, then into fashion
able society, and then into public life. We
used 20 talk Of him sometimes; we would
have welcomed him gladlyto our home, but
he never sought US, and there was nothing
TO cause US 10 meet. lie married and |
used to wonder if his wife made him hap
py. IL is hard for US to believe that the
life Of any who has been so near to us can
be quite complete without US. | forgot
how it was exactly, but think she did not
live many years.
was happy in the love of husband aud
children. We were prosperous We had
enough to make US comfortable, to educate
our children, and to give away. The
children all grew up TO be good men and
women and | was content and never re.
GREETED the choice ! had made on tbatJuly
afternoon in 1873. But one may have no
regrets and yet not be at perfect peace.
NJ life was too busy for much thinking OF
the past, but there were times-perhaps you
can't uudorstand-I don't want 10 give q
false impression but when | was nigh on
TO sixty years, | could not fully answer the
questions tha+Aad troubled me that sum.
mer Of 1Sl3-which did | then love the
best, Edmund or Richard P which ought
to have married? There were times wher
questioned whether | should have been Sc
very sure that the Lord gave me a sign thai
day. Had not Richard needed me NOR,
than Edmund, who would have 6rml,
walked heavenward without any earthly
support2 Had not made Richards life
such as it was, full Of worldly cares ans
empty Of everything elsc7 Was not thu
one person 10 the world who could hav
made his life fuller and better?
/ think now-indeed, | may say | know
that these were vain imaginings, and tina
| loved Edmund best first, and always, ant
it is likely could not have influence,
Richards life as | then fancied | could
But there were times, now and then, whei
the calm happiness in which my life glide
along seemed a stagnant pool to me, AM
when was troubled with misgivings tina
the Lord had made me strong in the day
Of my youth to fit me for other and storm
Ter scenes. You sec, my dear, know fror
experience that "the heart is deceitfu
above all things, and desperately wicked -
Edmund died at sixty.three. We wcr
old people then, ! thought, and that wa
twenty years ago
1t was abouta year after this that me
Richard, and spoke the first words hat
uttered to him since that time hat
turned to say to him, " Richard, tax
me-" 1t was chance meeting Il
case Of charity in which was interested
| was directed to the Office Of the presi
dent Of benevolent institution, and ther
| found Richard. My dear, he did no
know me, but when | told him who wa
his face lighted up with pleasure, aud W
had long talk, chiefly about Edmund
After awhile he took up the old days a
Trogo bu. not word was said about tn
summer of 1913.
The Honorable Richard Gardiner was
handsome old gentleman, courtly and affl
bic; but | realized then that there was n
real sympathy between him aud me. An
then, for the first time, was fully Statistic
that had not loved this man. Since tina
my mind has been at perfect peace.
Except once. Nine years ago Richar
died. 1t was late in the fall, when | coul
not go OUT but knew that his cemeter
lot was on the river bank, not far iroI
ours. Often during that winter | though
Of the two old friends once more brougl
near together; but it was not until earl
summer that was well enough to visit tn
two graves My son james was in III
habit of driving me out to Edmund's gray
frequently during the summer, and we a
ways took some of the children with I
and heaps of flowers. was glad tn
honeysuckles were not all out of blooi
when went, for liked to lay some O
Edmund's grave every year. But III
roses had always seemed to me to be Ricl
ards flowers and this day, while the chi
dren were tying wreaths. slipped bunC
Of roses under my shawl, and stole away
lay them on Richards grave.
But there was no grave at all--nothr
but lonely marble tomb with pillars, al
arches, and statues and when | locke
back to the grassy mound under whiC
Edmund was sleeping, with the scent
flowers and the sweet voices Of childrC
floating around him, for few minutes Il
old doubt came creeping back into II
heart, and / wondered if my hand hl
raised this cold, hard shell between Ric
ard and all that was tender and sweet
the world.
am foolish old woman to cry no
cut of sheer pity for him who, perhap
never needed my pity.
There was no place there for my rose
and | would not put Richards flowers {
Edmund's grave, so laid them gently
the river ScriJner's Monthly.
California possesses two wonderf