The daily gazette., 1880-03-25
POOR LUCY.
BY HUGH LEIGH.

unhappy one. younger men tnan i,
who passed their youth in the pursuit
of pleasure, their prime in the gratifi-
cation of ambition, and who have
spent their whole lives within the mar
row circles created by their own sell
fishness, living, SHINING, scheming and
accomplishing for themselves, loving
themselves, forgettingothers, while 9TH
ers have forgotten them; realizing, day
after day, the palpable truth that they
have lived too long, and complaining
bitterly of the neglect and ingratitude
of all around them-these men are
very old, but / am not. And really
now l think again-I am not old at
all. Strange contradictions these /
am old, and am not old and younger
men are older than am. Yet, is not
all have said true?
l will pass over my childhood and
my early youth, and will date my
story from the period when l first be-
gan to realize the duties, and to be
animated by the hopes and the ambi-
ton of manhood. What l have to
tell is but an episode of my pasta
sad episode of a bright dream of hap
piness which was not realized.
l was about twenty-five years Of
age when first saw, at the house of a
friend, young lady with whom
/ fell in love, and to whom soon be-
came engaged. l believed then, and
believe yet, that she loved me. and
was very happy as l thought of what
my future would be when she was my
wife. Butt is the old story-her
father opposed our marriage because ]
was poor. Then she told me she
would marry me in spite of his oppo-
sition, and the time for our marriage
was agreed upon.
She did not marry me, though, fol-
when the appointed time arrived re.
ceived letter from her, in which she
told me that her father (whose cold and
stern demeanor toward his family had
been generally noticed and commented
upon) had used such kind and affec-
tionate persuasions to prevent her
from marrying me, that she felt that
we ought to wait. Wait, indeed, and
for what? To waste the best years of
our lives in yielding to command die
tated by no shadow of reason ? To
fret and pine and murmur, and to lose
the freshness and the joyous hope of
our youth while we were yet youngP
could not do it. Better disappoint-
ment, with all its sudden and crush
ing weight, than the slow, sickeninp
misery of hope deferred and choosing
thus, / wrote to her letter so unreas-
enable and exacting that it left her no
alternative but to break off our en-
gagement.
l did wrong, I know. My reason
and my sense of justice were ovt rruled
by my pride and selfishness. l felt
that it would be making too great a
sacrifice to wait for a girl who had
been wheedled into not marrying me
by a cold-hearted parent, who had re-
sorted to affection on this occasion, as
a means of separating two loving
hearts.
Thee years elapsed; her father died,
and when l next heard of her, she was
herself in the last stage of the fell de-
stroyer, consumption. She sent for
me to her bedside I was thunder
struck at her emaciated appearancegr--
All my old love returned Immediately;
i kissed her passionately; not once, but
as the thought of my hideous future
rose to my mind-again and again, as
though my kisses would make her
linger little while longer in the world
which would be so desolate for me
when she was gone. Sc y
"Lucy, darling" said, II will not
stay here long without you. My grief
is more than l can bear. 1t will kill
me. o, God what have we done that
we should suffer this agony? Is this
justice 2'
"Hush Don't say that, darling
Bow in humble submission"
She was interrupted by violent
coughing, and, recovering from 1t, she
continued
"Harry, I have never told you yet,
in words, that l love you. | cannot
tell you, even now, how much l love
you. 1t does not surprise you to hear
this, l know, because, though / tried
very hard, | could not hide my feel
ings. My darling, always loved you.
Long before you thought of loving me,
l had nursed the sweet hope that l
would one day be your happy little
wife. But then the terrible truth was
revealed to met was terrible when l
first realized it-that l was to be the
victim of that dread disease of which
my poor father had died.
ebay by day, / could feel my
strength failing me, and l knew that
death had sent me its warning; and /
knew, too, that must wake from my
happy dream. Iprayed earnestly that
you would not love me, except as
dear friend, and l asked God to keep
you near me, and to let me see you
very often. And, Harry, no one knows
how suffered when you went away.
The night you left, when l saw how
you were, it almost broke
my heart. More than once was on
the point of yielding to the tempter,
when he said, Marry him, and be very
happy for the little time you have to
live : but my desire for your happiness
was too earnest and true to do that.
loved you too well to be selfish-to de-
ceive you, and make you miserable,
when you found you had married one
upon whom death was already slowly,
but surely, creeping. l did not tell
you all, then, Harry, because l feared
your deep and earnest love would over
come my resolution, and that you
would marry me anyhow, to soothe
the remaining years of my life. l
thought might linger for long time
and knew | would reproach myself
An IL vN,,sx, e