Connecticut western news., 1876-07-14

put W1GnOuG any uSureS or maEglnal references to show connection with the writing
 "I am one of two brothers," the nara tive commenced, "in all points as un- like, from the moment of birth, as Jacob and Esau."
 Then followed, interspersed with the incomprehensible maps, 0 brief history of an unhappy childhood, unloved as child hosd could be, en adolescence utterly unblessed and dissatisfied and after page of atheistical triade against the inequality of fortune and the bitter tyranny of fate, the personal history de- velUped into descriptive diaty ef travels and business connections in South America, whither the writer had innmigrated in his twenty-sixth year.
 So far, and little further, the manu- script bore marks of having been read pages were dug-eared, and there was an occasional thumb print. But the style was so dull and monotonous, and the detail so lacking in adventure, that not one of "the visitors ct Red Cedar pond" had been inspired with sufficient curios- ity to read the volume to it's close. Not one-except Miss Thatcher. She read every page carefully, even with avidity.
 One Saturday mornings beautiful sunny morning, for rainy days could no longer be waited for, the interest of the diary had become so absorbing-Miss Thatcher was early in her favorite place at the old mill, when Tim, with sur prisingly long face, aecosted her in a startling whisper:
 "The manuscripts bin called fur"
 Miss Thatcher turned quite pale. "Is it goneG" she asked, faintly.
 "No, miss, not goHe,'. said Tim, ra, diantly, well satisfied with "the start |" he had given her 'not tux away when you was a-readin' ont. Catch me Says I: Sir, you must bring written or der.' So he went up the hill to the old deacon's- wus yesterday. He'll be here fur certain to-day. But you'v got the manHscrip, miss, to look at once agin, anyhow. Catch me a-givin' ont up till had ter."
 "Tim, you are a very good, kind fel- low," said Miss Thatcher.
 She took the manuscript, and 1t was then that, before she read word, she wrote in fine pencil mark upon the margin of one of the sallow pages-a page she turned over leaf after leaf especially to find; "No one to love, none to caress.'
 Hardly had she written this when the sound of crutch was heard on the mill bridge, and voices, and in another mo- ment the sunny doorway of the mill was darkened by two figures.
 There was no escape for Louisa. She arose from her love of corner, with the manuscript in her hands.
 "I am sure you have come for this, '' she said to the old deacon. Then she glanced at his companion. She caught the impression in her rapid glance of 8 scholarly looking young man, with 8 pale forehead and 8 dark mustache, who wore eyeglasses. ...
 ''I believe I am the owner of the record left here so many years ago." the young man explained. But have nc reason to carry it away at this moment I shall be in tho village over the Sab bath, perhaps through the week. Il you have not finished reading it, I shal leave the book with you gladly"
 "Oh, mo-" said Miss Thatcher, quickly too quickly she afterward thought urged her to decline the strangers politeness.
 She was going, and as she went an un controllable impulse caused her to tur1
 back and say eff you are kindred tt the man who wrote the book, twill make
 you very sad. Ihope-I hope you vii
 feel little love for him."
 I* * * * At church on Sunday the claimant o
 the Bowles' mill manuscript appeared il
 conspicuous pew, and Louisa Thatche
 felt, even when he was not looking 8
 her, that his thoughts were studying
 her through and through.
 On Monday morning, as she trudget
 along the highroad to the schoolhouse
 she met him, and he evidently expected
 recognition; but intent upon the neces
 sity of absolute dignity in a "distric
 school. .na'a 'am," she vouchsafed hin
 none.
 "She blushed, though" the young
 man reflected, consolingly. That even
 ing he called at MT. Seaman's with on of the village dignitaries, but the desir
 of his eyes was Cup stairs correcting compositions, and he did not gain ; glimpse of her.
 At noon the next day the mother o faxen-haired Nettie, pet of the bab
 class, came with Nettie's luncheon, ac companied by the indefatigable younl man, who was then formally presente' 7 to Miss Thatcher. From that time they met daily on tn l way to school and the way from school l walking slowly along the highroad an F the pretty wood path that closed it, an
 giving each other gradually, with all tn trustful facility of youth and irresistib] 3 attraction, the confidential histories ( 3 their young lifetimes. At evening b 3 came to see her.
 l One evening the young couple wei 7 sitting in MT. Seaman's parlor by th : dim lamp, dignifed by the mercena1 ] genius of Mrs. Seamen into Gan extra, s looking together over the mill manl t script.
 > II find it so dull," said Leonar @ Mansfield. "Were it not for one col a sideration and one conviction, I shoul 8 never be able to finish. The consider
 tion is for your sake, because you like i 6 Louisa; the conviction was the found
 tion of my coming to claim the recor' - When my uncle's will was read seve J. years ago, one clause struck my imae @ nation.
 @ "I If any Of my heirs feel sufficient l. interested in me to inquire into my pc s sonal history, they will find my diary t the old mill where it was written, at Rt Il Cedar pond. Personal application d be made to Deacon Treat or Squi 5. Wells The heirs noted this directit @ with indifference.
 u "M My share of the legacies took D r through college-as my father, one Il the dearest and noblest of men, b
 never fortunate in money making, cou y not afford-and furnished me with }, small capital to commence law practic D I had more than one compunctio 9t thought about my benefactor. It seem' 7, to me shame to accept such benef Y from man in whom had not ev'