The Hickman courier. [volume] (Hickman, Ky.) 1859-current, 1882-04-14

Z" You have heard of Mrs Farnaby,
the authoress ? A friend of hers took
Inc to one OF her evening receptions and
introduced me, and she was kind enough
TO give me standing invitation for the
season 1t was the one house that WAS
open to me IN London, and cannot tell
you how dear those evenings were to
me, and how they stood out from tn Q
rest of the dTeary week. One night l
found myself seated next TO n young
lady whom had not seen before She
struck me particularly by reason of a
strong likeness l saw, or fancied | saw,
IN her to you. / spoke to her on some
commonplace topic, and we fell into a
conversation that lasted the whole even
ing, until she went away in the company
of an elderly lady, who seemed to be her
chaperone, or guardian, or companion,
whatever the phraseis. She was there
the next night and every night after, and
we were there together a good deal. L
assure you honestly, Amy, that until the
season came 70 a finish, and Mrs. Farm
ably receptions ceased for the year, l
had no notion of my real feelings toward
the girl. But it struck me suddenly, as
was dressing for the last of the even.
ings, that l was in love with her. L
doing something decisive-what. 1 did
not know myself. She did not come. [
waited the whole evening, hoping for
her appearance, long after all reasonable
chance had passed. and at last went
home feeling as had never felt before.
could not work or sleep for thinking
of her.
"Nearly four months passed before
saw her again was walking in the Re-
gents park, late one afternoon in De-
cember. There was half frozen snow
on the ground, and more IN the sky
waiting to fan. / was thinking about
her. and felt dull and miserable. sat
down upon a bench and ut my pipe, and
tried to drive her nom my mind by
thinking of story / was writing at the
time. But L could think of nothing
but her. The night was closing in, and
a park keeper came and told me that
the gates would. soon. oe closed and L
must go. AS / rose to obey, a woman's
figure huttered by me. The light WAS
dim under the trees, and she passed
quickly at some distance. But i knew
her. 1t was she-the girl 1 had lost.
81 could not tell you, Amy, how the
story she told moved me. 1t was a
commonplace story enough, suppose.
Her aunt, the lady who had accompan-
led her to Mrs. Farnaby's, had lost the
income ON which they had lived by
piece of heartless rascality. The inius-
tice was so fragrant that / cannot con-
ceive how the law of any country could
eountenance it. But legal redress was
impossible, according to the highest
opinions, and they were ruined. They
had never been rich, but they had had
enough for comfort, and now they were
reduced to complete poverty and were
subsisting rs best they could. A far
away relative had discovered them-a
successful man of business with whom
they had never had any communication
for many years. He had offered them
assistance, and for some time their bur
den had been greatly lightened by his
aid, though they still worked for
themselves and preserved their indie
pendence as much as they could. pheir
relatives help had been continued for
some time, they suspecting no Interior
motive, when one day he proposed to
the aunt for the hand of the girl. The
aunt made no definite reply, merely
promising to use her influence on his
behalf. The offer was refused-and re-
fused, / believe, Amy, for nay sake-pnd
he withdrew his assistance and left them
to fight their way as best they could.
She told me all this quietly and calmly
as we walked together. can tell you
what she said, but what actorcould hope
to initiate the calm, sdespairing resigna-
ton of her voice and manner? / told
her that if she would put her destiny