The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1877-11-07
LETTER.

A midsummer day-the air heavy and
sultry-the leaves of the trees, which
have hung heavy and motionless for
hours, beginning to rustic and tremble
the birds flying with shrill notes Of
of warning to their nests-cattle wend-
ing their way homeward in search of
shelter-the tall corn bending lightly
and gracefully toward the earth-a low
storm-murmur telling the bee and but
terhy to leave the honey feast and hide
tho skies growing dark with threaten
ing clouds-tangled skeins of lightning
in the east-distant sounds Of thunder
young woman, with pretty, fair hair,
small, feline mouth, and bright, shrewd,
green-blue eyes, writing at a desk beside
the open window of q handsome country
house, n sheetof paper closely covered
lies before her-she finishes a second
and q third, chances over them, places
them in an envelope, reaches out her
hand for the one upon the desk; pauses
q moment to lean from the window and
= watch the awful glory of the heavens ;
when, all its forces gathered, comes
the wind like a young hurricane !;
snatches the envelope from her g""e),
and bears it, with a.shriek of triu...,4,
far away.
A gentleman at least q quarter Of a
mile distant from the handsome house
toward which he is fastening ; tall,
broad-shouldered, with a scholarly stoop
mild, gray, truthful eyes-gentle, re-
fined mouth, honest, serious face-hair
and beard slightly silvered, and hands
filed with treasures gathered in the
woods.
The fierce wind meets him-battles
with him a momentEthen suddenly dies
away, and dying, drops q unaddressed
envelope at his feet. He bends and
picks it up--regards it a moment alb
stractedly-opens it-takes out a frag-
ment of o letter-in another moment
lets the forest treasures slip from his
grasp-steps backwards pace or two
leans against the sturdy trunk Of an old
chestnut tree and with puzzled look and
knitted brow reads what the wind has
brought him slowly and carefully
through from beginning to end, and this
is whatrhe reads : IL
Not introduce you to Uncle Maurice
until six months are past. I want him
to believe that I have been thoroughly
devoted to him for the last two years,
ever since he took me from the convent
school where I became pupil-teacher
when my father died.
At the end of the six months, on my
t~wenty-frst birthday, he has half
promised to make over to me this house
and grounds and all they contain, and
the probability Of the half promise be-
coming a whole one and being fulfilled
is very much stronger if he be kept in
happy ignorance of our love affair than
it would be if he even suspected my
years engagement to you. So, you see,
my dear boy, it is all nonsense-romantic
nonsense your urging me to confess to
my uncle in hopes of Fastening u mar
rage.
It would be consummate folly to run
such q risk, for there's no telling what
these very good people will do when all
their lifelong prejudices receive a sudden
shock.
Uncle Maurice finding that I had de-
ceived him might Danish me to the
obscurity from which he took me
Then we could never marry, for you
have but a small income, scarcely SUI
fcient to procure the comforts and
Injuries absolutely necessary to a man
of society, and I have nothing but a love
for comfort and luxury commensurate
with your own.
patient, trust to me and your
patience shall soon be rewarded. And
really, when one comes to consider, you
have much less to complain of than L.
You have no disagreeable old uncle to
find fault with you. For, a. I have told
you before, Uncle Maurice, though a
great favorite with most people, is ex-
tremely disagreeable to me. We haven't
a taste, a feeling in common, and were it
not for the benefit accruing, I would not
remain beneath the same roof with him
another week.
In the first place he is unp~ieasantly
truthful, and thereby getting n con-
stantly into awkward scrapes; in the
next, he looks with perfect horror on
round dances, believing them inventions
of his satanic majesty, and I, who dote
o them, have to tell our guests-how
you would laugh to hear me-that I do
not allow them. do you remember our
arst galopO aa5ar
every month some fifty dreadful chill
dren whom he gathers from the sur
rounding villages, and I am compelled
to assume the part of the lovely, CHAIR
table young mistress of the mansion, in
white decorated with blue ribbons, and
preside over the feast, the money ex-
pended Oh which T can't help thinking
all the time would have added some
nice little trihe to my wardrobe or jewel
case. ,-.
Just think of it'll Pouring out tea
and cutting cake for half a hundred
pauper children-I who hate poverty in
any form and only like children in
poetry.
But to 20 back to the subject. You
can make your appearance as soon as
the house is mine and I will introduce
YOU as an acquaintance made in town at
one of the Ida Cranston's receptions.
And when you do appear you must get
rid of, for q time, at least Il wouldn't
have you give it up altogether, for to me
it is intensely amusing, your habit OF
making fun of everything and every
body.
And you must also pretend q great in
terest in cocoons, chrysalis and all sorts
of horrid insects and in everything re-
Iatine to birds and animals, and never
forget to pat the dog and stroke the cat
whenever they come near you.
You can be a very agreeable fellow
when you choose, and I Am sure with q
little pardonable hypocrisy you make
Uncle Maurice like you.
Once he likes you, I'll follow suit
which viii be q compliment to his taste
and fall in love with you.
Then we can marry as soon as We
choose. Immediately after our mar
riage business calls you to Europe ; the
house is to-let-Ihave an excellent tenant