The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-09-30

called me young lady, and said | would
marry Louis some day. And perhaps the,
might have been right; but how could
be lady-a real lady, you know-with al
old straw hat and ragged jacket slowed
away in my heart? Even after l grew up,
had fits of silent fretting for Jim thai
seemed as if they would eat my life away
Mrs Belden said it was because was grow
! ing, and she took me away one bright sum
mer to the sea shore. Oh, the sea shore,
can not tell you what felt when | first
saw the seattle real sea-stretching away
from the white line of shore, throbbing
and sounding as it brimmed to the hori
IONS edge. THIS was the sea, the glori
fled sea; the sea no longer grimy and
smoky and gray with getting it's living,
but the sea translated, purified, made holy
as if after death. The days went and came
shining and beautiful; and every day
walked on the shore with Louis, ran races
with the breeze, picked up shells, or gath
cred sea weed, or watched the sunset gild
ing the sails of some far-fitting Ship
Louls's face was sweet in those days. and
kind as sunlight; and his voice was soft
| and low when he spoke to me, for he said
we were friends now, and had known each
other so many years that we ought to love
each other always. One afternoon we
strayed farther than usual, and the twi
light deepening as we walked, think we
both forgot every thing save that we were
young and happy, and life was glorious.
Love! The word dropped warm from his
lips, and seemed to color all my future
with rose tints All my past seemed sink
ing out of sight. The gates of paradise
were open, and was free to walk therein if
| would. Not for me the barrenness, the
disappointment, that blighted other lives. l
might make mine what | would, with wealth
and love for my servants, and luxury and
JOY at my command. All, well l remem-
Der that afternoon by the sea!-the long
line of white beach, the overhanging cliffs,
the twilight touching the water with a
golden glow, and glittering on the tall
masts, and ship lying at anchor beyond.
Oh, life was SO beautiful-oh, love was so
beautiful A lightness of heart, capri,
cious, intangible, elf-like mood fell upon
me, born perhaps of the very overflow of
bliss. l remember clapping my hands as
skipped along, and challenging Louis to a
race. Perhaps he had urged me too per-
sistently to respond to his affection, to say
when | would be his wife. Wife! WANTED
to be no ones wife just then, but only to
love and to live. Would l answer him ?
sighed Louis.
"When you catch me,' 1 responded,
mockingly, fitting along the sand. Away
went, with Louis following, breathless.
We rounded the curve of the shore, and l
was just about sinking down upon the
sand to wait for him, when an old boat
with broken oar caught my eye; it lay
swinging in the shadow just where a great
rock overhung the beach. Lightly, thought
lessly, stepped into the tiny craft, and
waving my handkerchief laughingly to
Louis, caught up the oar and set myself
atloat. ! scarcely thought what l was
doing; it was mere caprice born of light
ness of heart and youthful thoughtlessness
But single glance at Louis countenance
reused me to the folly was committing.
''Ceme back! come backn' he cried;
'the current will carry you out of reach
in moment
Still laughing, | endeavored to obey
Dextrously l worked the broken oar, dill
gently steadied the frail little vessel; but
all my efforts only seemed to bear me further
and further from the anxious face that was
watching me.
Perhaps if Louis then had plunged into
the water, few strong strokes of his arm
might have reached and saved me. l do
not know. Louis was no swimmer; and,
besides, that was not his way of doing
things. His was a deliberate and thought
full rather than a rash and venturesome
nature. He called to me eagerly that he
was going for help; l should wait; l should
drop the oar; in few moments he would
get boat l saw him fastening along the
shore at the top of his speed saw the
solitary shore, the deserted fisher huts, the
far stretches of sand he would have to
travel before reaching the little fishing
village; saw it all, but dimly now, for l
was floating further and further away.
YEARLY dropped the oar and sank back
in the boat. Surely l need do nothing
T
he would not let me die alone within reach
of his loving arms. Night was creeping
on, with twilight on its garments HEM |
could see that lone and shadowy ship lying
at anchor beyond the bar. If only l could
reach that ship! But the current would
drift me past her in an instant. Wildly
and longingly now called for help, stretch
ing my arms out yearningly toward that
silent vessel; but nothing answered me-
The shore had grown far and dim, and
dimly, strangely the stars coming out with
their unfamiliar beauty made me afraid
Sad, solitary, and deserted, was l going to
my death out of all that bright afternoon,
that overlooking love, that fullness of life
and pleasure proffered me?
Afraid? Well, yes, was afraid; for one
brief moment, as | covered back into the
boat, shrinking in the solitude of the awful
waste of waters, a fear of that unknown
world into which seemed sailing oppressed
me. But l bethought myself that if must
die, it were better to die bravely. Perhaps
| was going to meet Jim. If he were in
that other world, that ought to be CHEEKY
thought. No doubt he died bravely. But
eoas he dead? Jim, my old stanch friend,
whose glad good face had frightened my
wretched childhood, oh, where acas he?
1t is said that in the hour of death the
memory of past events is preternaturaly
vivid. And as my mind reverted to those
old days, forgetting my later life, forgetting
my later friends, and forgetting Louis, l
felt sure that l was going to die. A trance
of peace fell upon me, in which l seemed
to clasp Jm's warm hand again, as in days
of old. jim. jim. | called aloud rousing