The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1880-06-04
1T MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

The fire burns cheerily in my room
tonight; the light gilds the furnishing,
the pictures and ornaments all openly
suggestive of coziness and comfort. |
lean back in my arm chair, survey the
surroundings, and try to think that am
contented But it is In vain. [ can only
realize it's emptiness-to me it is only
the haunting ghost of what might have
been. How wildly the past comes up
before me tonight. It is useless for
me to attempt to drive away these
thoughts, for they are bitter memories
of my past life, which, like Banquo's
ghost, will not down at my bidding. /
try to crush out all thoughts Of the
past, as at other times, but they come
with such weight that they are stronger
than my will.
Two years is not long period of time,
If measured as days, weeks and months,
but, if measured by the agony the hui
man heart can endure, it is an eternity.
Some say that hearts cannot break,
others, that women's do sometimes
but mems are so constituted that they
can bear disaster to the affection with
out material injury to that delicate
organ. don't pretend to say how this
may be, but I do know this world will
never again look as bright and beauti-
full to me as it did before [ closed my
eyes on hope.
try to cover my sorrow with a mask
of harshness toward womankind, and
well l succeed; for among my acquaint-
ances [ am known as q bitter, cynical
man, who sneers at women and love
and not one among them would accuse
me OF ever having sentimental thought.
But there are times when the old fires
burst forth pncontrollably yes, times
In my life when anniversaries come
when temporarily there is an end to
peace, and / must live over again the
bitter past and tonight is one of those
times, and unwillingly drift back into
the "long ago." 1t is evening. The
brilliant orb of day is slowly and ma
jestically sinking toward the western
horizon. The soft breeze is heavily
laden with the fragrance of the early
spring flowers, and it stirs gently the
tender leaves of the few forest trees that
have dared to assume their vestments of
green. A broad, deep stream, spanned
by rustic bridge and directly across
this, and as far away as the view is I'M
Obstructed, winds sandy, neglected
road, bOrdered on one side by a dense
underground of scrub oaks, with here
and there tall pine, which stand like
grim sentinels on guard; and, on the
other, by broad field, which shows by
the freshly, turned soil that the plow-
share of the husbandman has been busy
there. Half mile away, can be seen,
standing out in bold relief against the
clear evening sky, the tall, white spires
of the village churches and, as the
bright rays of the declining sun are re-
Elected from the bronzed balls by which
they are surmounted, they glitter in the
distance like FURNISHED gold.
Upon the bridge stand two figures.
A youth of perhaps % years of
age, and girl several years his Junior.
She, tall, dark and queenly, with deep,
fathomless eyes-such eyes as poets
write of-eyes, one glance from which
can elevate man to the supreme pima
Gle of happiness or doom him to such ex-
cruciating torture that the pangs suf-
fered by lost souls in the lowest pits of
hell can scarcely compare with it;
broad, high forehead, over which, as is
the prevailing style, is tastefully ar
ranged the glossy locks of jet-black
hair. Her face is one that brings to
memory the description given by an
cient writer's of the goddess of beauty,
but close reader of human character
would pronounce her possessed of a
heart that would break before it would
yield, and will that is strong as death.
Silence holds supreme sway The on
ly sound that breaks in upon the calm,
peaceful stiffness is the low, musical
murmur of the stream as it flows be-
meath the bridge and the vesper hymn
of some feathered songster as it wings
It's way to the deeper shades of the for
est.
The girl is seated upon the low railing
OF the bridge. In one hand she holds a
small parasol, while the other, from
which she has removed the dainty glove,
toys idly with a small bunch of wild
flowers which lie upon her lap. Her
eyes are fixed upon the distant hills, and
there is PARKWAY look upon her face
which tells that her thoughts are not of
her immediate surroundings.
der companion is leaning against the
railing at her side and gazing westward
at the setting sun which ROW hangs like
fiery ball just above the summit of the
distant hills. But ever and anon he
turns his face toward the beautiful be-
mig at his side, and his eyes light up
with what is Enthusiastically a look of
love. HaE
He is the first to break the silence.
and his voice is low, as if fearful that its
sound would CRATE harshly upon the
quiet surrounding.
"Myrtle, listen to me, please.
She glanced up, but gave no other
Indication that she had heard his re-
quest.
"Myrtle, / must tell you now what
has been on my mind for weeks. It dis
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