Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1878-03-29
NV yerv voice had an unfamiliar sound.

|
quilting, particular way after the manner
of his kind. He said, of all the fine arts
his enthusiasm was decidedly for sculpture,
$50 cold, so pure, so exalted. " and he beg,
ged to know, if l shared his aesthetic pre-
ference. 1 suppose, if L had been proper
ly trained, or year or two older. 1 might
have answered: II am enraptured with
music-Beethoven Mozart, Henry, Rusr
sci, and the Seguins; dearly love art
Titan, Michael Angelo. Benjamin West;
but 1 adore poetry-Milton, Byron, and n.
P. Willis. /
AS it was, with desperately honest inn
pulse, I replied: I
~ admire art and music, poetry and all
such things, but don't know much about
them yet To tell the plain truth. my
particular enthusiasm is-just horses |
suppose it's perverse and improper, and all
that; but l do know something about
horses, and love them.''
! My hero smiled, in beaming, indulgent
way and declared that he participated in
my enthusiasm-that his love for horses
amounted to quite passion, and that he
fattered himself he owned the fastest trot-
ter in all that region.
''Ah!" at that moment. to quote from
dear Miss Bremen, tour souls met"
Mysterious sympathy of sionate
young hearts!
His eyes upon a nearer view, were gray,
but their expression was full Of poetic SEN
siblity. They beamed with that tender
Difference, half wistful, half wicked, hard
est of all looks for even ''little women" to
resist suspect the fellow knewit. They
all do.
There was, now and then, a mysterious
shade of sadness over his brow-an inter-
esting, Laura like frown that came and
went in that festive hour. OWNED that
young as he was, he had great thoughts
!! and ambitions, great sorrows and sins, or
meant to have them, (which was all the
same. H9sa
At parting, he begged from my bouquet
sprig of geranium, which he placed in his
button hole for remembrance" Then he
asked leave to visit me, which gracious
ly accorded. Then we murmured our
adieux. -.-es,f,
went home with my head among the
stars. Ny dear, absurd as it may seem, l
really believed had that night met my
destiny, and met it on the whole in very
satisfactory shape.
did not know just when to look for.
nv admirer, but was ready for him morn
I ing and evening. I grew strangely care
full of my dress. I assiduously brushed
and curled my hair. I applied cosmetics
to my sunburnt face. slept in'kid gloves.
These alarming symptoms were not un-
noticed by my tender mother; but she
noticed that my manner had grown quiet
and maidenly, and took great comfort
| thereat.
Six days and nights l waited in vain.
! The seventh-magic number brought
not him. but letter. 1t was a dainty
looking missive, all rose tinted and gilt
edged. This was before the time of enve-
lopes-a remote age bordering on the
''Drifted Period" you may think, in the
insolence of your nineteen summers.
1t was dlrected-this letter of letters
in one of those rearing Italian hands once so
fashionable. 1t was sealed with lilac COL
ored wax, and the seal bore the motto
how we'll remember it, though l didn't
| in the least know what it meant then-of
"Iojours Jidele.''
With my heart beating into my finger
tips broke the seal-I opened the letter.
The very first line was something startling,
uneqnivocal: ''My Dearest Lowell"
Without waiting to read another word,
1 turned the leaf to read the signature:
sob, my prophetic soul!'' it was. John
Trevalyan ,"
made no copy Of that letter, and find
memory has been little unfaithful in re-
gard to the exact wording. know that
read it with great satisfaction especial,
lover like inventory which it contained
| of my most amiable and admirable char
acteristics. There were things set down
there that had supposed know only to
myself.
Towards its close the letter assumed
practical tone, II will, with your leave,?
it read, 'call on your father in day or
two. In the meantime, love perhaps you
had better confide our dear secret to no
one unless it be your brother Tom.'
All, heavens the letter was not for
me Alas [ haG no ''brother Tom.''
Providence had been bountiful in sons
| to our house. Our cup had run over with
that particular sort of blessing, but the re-
spectacle name of Thomas had somehow
never struck my mothers rowing fancy.
! At the baptlsmal font she had never given
it in. Fatal omission! Madam, you
| might have saved me from this =
| resealed that letter. 1 sent it with all
dispatch, and courteous apology to my
double, now my rival. I was wretched,
but could not be base.
| Yes, she married my John. After that,
l got no more of her letters, which was
some consolation.
| No, she was not pretty-even on her
wedding day, but she was charmingly
dressed.
John still lives. He has grown rich and
stout. He has no longer the Byron ex-
preston !; but the Byron peak on his brow
is more pronounced than ever. OF all the
beautiful enthusiasts of his youth, that
for fast horses alone remains. He has,
believe, never been so unhappy or wicked
as he promised to be, though, for time.
he fell into evil ways and was sent to the