Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1883-02-21
AUTUMN BLOSSOMS.

How was 1t that L came to be an Old
bachelor? Not because of hating
women, I am sure, for like them very
much, and never could have spoken to
enc ludely or discourteously in my life.
As nearly as [ know, it was In this wise
My father died, leaving a family of
children, wife, and an old father and
mother, Of whom only myself was able
TO earn d shilling. He had never saved
anything. So, after the first grief, when
he had Gained down, and were able to
look matters quietly in the face, there
was wretched sort of an aspect for us.
WAS only an accountant, and had a
young fellows way of wasting my small
salary in thousand different ways. [
had been paying attention to Elsie Hall,
VINO, young and childish as she was, had
a way OF leading her admirers into ex-
travagance. OF all the trials of that
never-to- be- forgotten time, think the
greatest was appearing to be niggardly
IN those baby blue eyes. [ did not
mind wearing plain suits, discarding kid
gloves, and renouncing the opera; but
not to lay those bouquets and books and
music, and dainty bits of jeweIry and
mdlritudinous trifes at EIsie's feet was
q very terrible ordeal. It passed though;
and if ever a man had reason to be
thankful [ had, for the acquisitive little
beauty Tilted me in a month for Tom
Tandem, who was rich and lavish of
gifts, and who ran away from her after
a marriage of ten months.
worked night and day and managed
to kee , the wolf from the door. Some
times ! used to think how well it was for
Eiain fha4 bo bod moi rooI1x- 80
for she could have had nothing but dis
NAL prospect OF wearing out her youth
IN dreary, hopeless engagement to one
too poor TO marry. That was until Tom
ran off, Then / thought it would have
been even better for her to have shared
our umhle nome and poor fare and the
love could have given her, than to be
defa ted SO. And L pitied her, as if she
hf,i not proven herself heartless. But
[ never would near her, of course, and I
never even spoke of her to my mother.
grew no younger all this while, and
every year seemed to add five years to
my looks. l had never been very hand
some or very merry, and soon I became
conscious OF a peculiar middle-aged look
which settles down upon some people
very early.
Strangers, too, began to take me for
>Cae head of the family; and once in a
new neighborhood, the butcher applied
TO g my wife, found that he meant
my mother, and only wondered that it
was not dear old grannie
She was eighty, grandfather ninety,
and they died one bright autumn day be-
fore prosperity came to us-died within
an hour OF each other-for grannie Just
said, 81 think I'll lie down bit, now
Lemuel don't need me. I'm very
tired"
Then she kissed me and said, Sc you've
been good boy to your grandma, Ed
ward. You'll have that to think of. -
And when 1 next looked at her she was
dead, with her hand upon her cheek like
sleeping child.
So two were gone, and we were sadder
than before. And then Jean, my eldest
sister, married at sixteen, physician,
who carried her of to Hindoostan in her
honeymoon. And we could none of us
feel the wedding happy thing.
But prosperity did come at last Ihad
worked hard for it, and anything man
makes his sole object in this life he is
very sure to attain
We were comfortable-easy. All. what
a word that is after years of struggle.
At last we were rich. But by that time
was fve-and-forty = large, dark,
middleaged man, with face that looked
to myself In the glass as though it were
perpetually intent on figures. The girls
were married. Dick had taken to sea,
and we saw him once year or so; and
Ashton was at home with mother and
myself-the only really handsome mem
Der OF our family, and just two-and-
twenty. And 1t was on his birthday, I
remember, that the letter came to me
from poor Hurter-that letter which be.
gan: "When these lines reach you, Ned
Sanford, I shall have my six feet on
earth - all [ ever owned, or would if /
lad lived to be hundred
We had been young together, though
he was really older than I, and we had
been close friends once; but rowing fit
had seized him, and we had not met for
years. I knew he had married a young
Kentish girl, and knew no more, but
now he told me she was dead, and that
his death would leave a daughter, an
orphan.
"She is not quite penniless," he