The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1876-05-26

hunter, landlord and proprietor, was
therefore not little surprised and fiur-
ried when, upon a raw October after
noon, a young man having great-coat
over his arm, a light bag in one hand,
and q stick in the other, presented him.
self at the bar Of the screen Dragon"
asked languidly if he could be accom-
modated with bed and sitting-room.
ga bed, sir2" replied Mr.. Hunter,
big man, with red face and gray hair,
"yes, 1 think we can manage to give
you bed"
"And sitting-rooma" continued the
stranger.
ga sitting-room," echoed the land
lord, in the tone of one who is consider
ing some great undertaking; Zone min
ute. if you please, sir. and MIR. Hunter
Disappeared into little room immedi-
ately adjoining the bar, there to hold
counsel with some second person, the
upshot being that, in few minutes,
Mrs. Hunter, Miss Hunter, and few
| Hunters Just out of the crawling state,
issued forth, bearing respectively work
ing materials, socks in process Of being
mended, tin whistles, and decapitated
dolls.
"You can have this room all to your
self, sir" said Mr.. Hunter, triumph
antly.
"You really must not let me disturb
you," rejcined the traveller.
"Don't you mention it" replied the
landlord, in tone which was at once
genial and confidential. "We would
not turn customer away from our doors.
You see, we do not have much parlor
company"
Sand this is the only room you have
disengaged9"
"Well, yes, sir; this is the only room
at present-Susan Goals for the gentle
mans fire."
The traveller having as he thought
shown due amount of consideration for
the comfort of Mrs. Hunter and the
young Hunters, was glad enough to
enter the apartment before alluded to,
and to draw close to the fire the one
dilapidated armchair.
Arthur Seton, barrister by profession,
and literary by choice, was not really
more than thirty, though he looked con-
siderably older for the dark hair and
beard were streaked with gray, and the
face, with its regular, handsome features,
wore habitually look of such intense
mental WEAKNESS as would have sad
dened the most hopeful man had he
looked on it for long.
For some time he leant indolently
back, his hands clasped behind his head
at length he rose and took from his bag
locked up diary, which he opened, and
availing himself of pens and ink which
stood upon the table, made the follow
ing entry
October IT, 1s74.-Got up late. Called on
the Brianstones George was out. Had a
pleasant chat with Annie went, like fool, to
Richmond-and, like fool, haunted the Well
House. 1t looked just the same as in the old,
dear days, but heard children playing in the
} garden. The house is let, l believe, to city
people. Came back to London dined at the
Pail Mall went to the club Got back tc
chambers late. Wrote a column g. Re-
view." A weary, weary day. Shall l never
know moments forgetfulness3
He drew then from the leaves of the
diary letter written in delicate femi
nine hand, and addressed, "Arthur Seton
Esq, II, Gray's inn." This letter ho
, regarded with long, sad, loving look
then, resting his head on his hand, he
read it through very slowly. 1t ran al
4 follows
My DEAR ARTHUR II you will be 80 suspic
ious. 80 jealous, and exacting, cannot see how W.
{ are ever to be happy. Faith without works ii
dead, and love without faith is no blessing
Il but weary burden. l am tired Of cross words
and looks. Some women, l believe, like tn,
feverish excitement Of quarres, but / only
wish for peace. This miserable, petty jealousy
f is quite unworthy of You. Do try and put i
from you; and remember that love, once
g wounded, is sometimes hurt past hope Of re-
| L ial NIT fal w
but l cannot speak about it now. You have
made me too sad too weary, and even little
indignant Yours affectionately
ALICE CIAREFIEID.
WELL HOUSE, RICHMOND, October, 1871.
a He replaced the letter, closed the
a diary, took up his pipe, and began
smoking. The early part of this day
had been fine and mild, but toward the
afternoon the sky grew all at once leader
and the wind shifted to the northeast
' Now the wind was rising and the raiI
was falling-a cold, penetrating, impetu
8 Gus, determined rain. The country
D which but brief while since had looked
so fair in a bland October sunlight, now
seemed a thing to shudder at. The
, un-colored woods, wet and forlorn
seemed to have no hope of any return
ing summer, and to know the utter desc
lation of the end. 1t was impossible in
deed to imagine that in the green, soak
ing fields, where now few COWS were
budding together, and loving discon.
solately, glad children could ever have
tossed each other in the warm, sweet
smelling hay the rain drove drearily
t against the window, and the wind
shrieked round the house, and occasion
ally Numbered in the chimney, and, al
! the bar, where in spite of Che wet
weather, Mr.. Hunter seemed to be do
ing brisk business, for ale corks popped
continuously, and pewters clanked
audibly as the men set them down on
the slab and the great wagons numbered
by, or drew up ponderously in front OF
the door and while the drivers awaited
themselves of tho "Green Dragons y
hospitality, the large, broad backed
horses beat the miry roads with heavy
hoofs. There was not much to occupy a
man sthoughts in the dreary little bar par
} lor. A great variety of whips hung against
the wall, and over the mantel-piece was
a photograph of a fine chestnut mare.
Under it was written Being Mr..
| . T. 4 :