The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1874-11-13

ture he had met with since he shool
the dust of Bond street from hi
feet. He followed her, and when
after an hours scramble with thi
, daughter of the coast, he returned
wet and weary, to the hotel, he mad
an entry in his diary that his morn
iDg's lesson in conchology was NOR,
Interesting than any he had eve.
heard from the lips of his Oxford
professor. And Juanilla averred tx
herself it was a pity that this youns
Englishman, who said such od(
things in such a nice way, should
have such pale cheeks, and get 81
tired from the exercises that only re
freshed her for the labors Of the
day. That afternoon, as her def
fingers wove the MOSES into tastefu.
patterns, her fathers voice sum
moned her to the veranda.
"There is a stranger here, Juan.
lila, who would like to see our pic.
ture frames. Quick, my daughter
and show the gentleman what We
have for SALE"
Mr.. John Thorpe bought almost
the entire stock, and then asked
permission to visit the garden.
"This is my pet" said Juanilla,
gently lifting up the blossom of a
tiny moss-rose bush, "but it is very
sickly, senor, and 1 fear this will be
its last winter. Come, you shall
have a bud, as you have bought my
picture frames. Poor thingl the
northerly winds will kill it."
The sands had after this morning,
a grand attraction for Thorpe. He
had never met nature so fresh and
brimming with vitality as this poor
whaler's daughter. The sea, and
the woods, and the flowers had been
her instructors, and from them she
had caught an untutored poetry
which found vent in odd ideas and
sympathies. A shell was to her a
beauty; fragment of moss, a mes
senger from the deep sea forests,
where unknown sea-foWers bloom
and die forever remote from human
eyes. He was astonished at him
self. Women bored him, had always
bored him; but here was this water
nymph. who had never read a book
in her life-for the alphabet was to
her an unexplored mystery-who
could not discourse of politics, the
poets, or the magazines, working
her way into his indolent nature,
and quickening him to exchange
thought for thought, until he felt the
poverty of his book-culture as com.
pared with an intelligence framed
and polished by Mother Nature her
self. Her mind was a white page
free from the very shadow of world
ly grossness.
One evening as Thorpe sat on the
porch, listening to the whaler's re
citals of his exciting lagoon adVen
lures and watching Juanilla's weav
ing fingers, a Spaniard lifted the
Igarden gate latch and was greeted
warmly by the Whsler.
"We have heard from Pancho, .
said the newcomer. "He has done
well in the lower bays, and as sOor
as he can will ship US over 500 bar
Irels."
"Goodr' said the whaler; "5OC
barrels! Think Of that, Juanilla
That will buy you a fine wedding
Igown, my daughter"
Thorpe started, stung by though
which for the moment sent the blood
lin a cold current to his heart, anC
lglanced at Juanilla with a great feal
in his eyes, which, in spite of his eff
forts, he could not conceal.
She simply answered: Il am glaC
that Pancho has been lucky. Poo
fellow! he has been g long time
laway."
Thorpe arose, and, bidding then
an abrupt good evening, walked rap
idly toward the sands. "My GOdI
he said aloud, "what have 1 beel
doing? Am 1 dreaming? This /
terrible-terrible. 1t can't be pos
sible that 1 love this daughter of
wretched pauper fisherman; but b
heaven p'-and he struck his fore
head with his clenched fists-"thi
is jealousy, so sure as there is sucl
passion; and if the intense concen
tration of all feeling, an absorption
! of ones self into another, be love
then I, silly fool that 1 am, love thi
pauper-curse mep' For an hou
, he paced up and down the cliff, oyel
looking the sands where he had frs
met his siren, and reflected bitterl
on all the folly of his unfortunat
, attachment. Marry her he coul
not. Nay, even if he decided t
7 marry her, he did not believe sh
: loved him, and he knew, or though
: he knew enough of her character t
f feel assured that his wealth and pc
S sition would not influence her on
]. Ijot. But who was this PanchO?-n
r, doubt her betrothed, yet she ha
e never mentioned his name. Still
e her idiotic old father spoke of
e wedding-gown. Yes, Pancho-ma
8 the devil drown him! had gor
whaling to defray the marriage e,
:, penses. But what did all this col
a Germ him-this episode in the life
g a poor fisherman's daughter? T
e felt it concerned him too much; an
h full of anger, love and perplexit
l Thorpe sought his lodging.
q Long before dawn the next NOR
iing he was on the sands, awaitir
b impatiently the arrival of Juanill
e And when at last she stood on Il
q cliff from which he had seen her frs
: the quick heart beat and thejoy tn
n flushed him were additional alarI
e ing convictions of the intensity
a his passion. He could not, for Il
IS life of him, mention the incident
Y the previous evening until they h'
E. walked some distance along Il
a beach. Juanilla stood barefoot'
le at the edge of the tide, now turnil
l. round with a merry laugh when Il
h incoming wave splashed up to h.
l. knees, and again shouting with d
l. light when more than usually ra
le moss was thrown up. Thorpe s
s. on a rock, and watched her moOdil
m "Juanilla, come here for a m
le ment."
90, senior, here is a beauty, Il
" nrettiestb bit I have caught in a wee