The Sentinel. [volume] (Trenton, N.J.) 1880-1882, 1882-10-07
An Autobiography.

Tomorrow am going to be married,
/ who have been set down an old maid
for an inde finite number of years.
This expected event creates quite a
commotion n our hitherto quiet house
hold. My mother says: "What can /
do without your" And my dear
father. whose dark hair begins to be
sprinkled with silver. says mournfully,
81 cannot spare my Caroline" though
think he is secretly pleased that his
pet Caro- ia to have such q noble hus-
band after all. Ny rougish brother
Tom goes about the house singing:
There is no goose 80 gray, but soon or late.
She'll find some honest gander tor mate.
And I-all this seems strange to me.
I cannot realize it that the bridal dress
of snowy satin, with the gossamer veil
ana wreath of orange blossoms, can De
for plain Caroline Hudson. But the
strangest of all is, that | am to marry
John Grant-John Grant, whom |
learned to love years ago, but all
thoughts of whom [ strove to put far
from me.
1t is six years now since that morn
ing in early summer. when we walked
together through the green wood, the
leaves stirred by gentle wind, and
| the birds singing their morning songs.
We were little apart from the rest OF
our party. and when we had gathered
our hands full of wild flowers that
were scattered in prOfuston at our feet,
we sat down upon felled oak to wait
Tor them. | was happy on that June
morning, as | sat on that old tree by
the side of John Grant, while he
wreaIhed the buds and blossoms and
| the green leaves of the trailing con-
volvulus ia the braids of my brow
hair. @
We did not talk much that morning,
and we had sat in silence several mo
ments, when ] ohm said:
Caroline | want to tell you some
thing"
1t was not the words that made my
heart beat SO and the hot blood to rush
to my cheeks and forehead, for we had
known each other long time and he
had often made d cOnfida lite OF me
but it was the low tone full of new and
strange tenderness that thrilled my
whole being. I do not know, but per
haps my voice trembled a little, as
said:
"WelI, what is it, John ?"
Carrie dear" but the sentence was
not tinlshed-just then the rest of the
party made their appearance, and
effectually put an end to all confiden.
tlal conversation.
The next day John Grant left Tun-
bridge on business, which required his
presence for several weeks. L did not
see him for some time after his return,
and when he called at last, there was
something undefnable in his man.
ner, but yet change, restraint,
which told me that those words once
on the lips would not be spoken.
Months came and went, and again
he left home ostensibly for business,
| but it was rumored that beautiful
young girl at Ferny Coombes, whose
acquaintance he had made, was the
real cause of his frequent visits to
Devonshire.
In a little while it was said, and
upon good authority, that John Grant
was engaged to be married to Mary
Heating; and it was also said that she
was very young and beautiful. Never
till then, was the secret of my own
heart revealed to me; but then l knew
how had loved him-how all hope,
all 10y, all earthly happiness was GEN.
tered IN him-even now l shudder
when think of that time, when life
seemed such a heavy burden, and
longed for time to lay it down in the
grave, but could not; thOrny path
opened before me, and I was to walk
into it.
John Grant returned to Tunbridge
soon after his engagement. and In q
few weeks Mary Heating came to