The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1884-08-09
Miss MartingalG'S Picture.

Though Miss Martingale's worldly
guess from her comfortable little sitting
room, there is nothing among them all
that she would not willingly lose in
preference to the insignificant looking
piece of cardboard lying on her table be-
fore her-a rusty old photograph of
once young and manly original.
Miss Martingale was one of the most
respectable aud demure middle.aged
spinsters that ever wore black silk. Why
she should be poriug over young mans
face and gazing into young mans eyes
with an expression as sentimental and
love-lorn, as if she. ridiculous old maid,
were school. cir! Of II, and this the
photograph of a gallant of 20, her first
lover, is question only to be answert d
by one very intimately acquainted with
her, But, after all who knows what
sad tale may not be attached to Miss
Martingale's keepsake? Perhaps it is the
one remaining relic of some departed
brother, or perhaps of one nearer and
| dearer still, who looked upon Miss Mar
tingale's neatly braided hair before traces
of silver were discernable in it-possibly
kissed the pleasant features years ago be-
tore time had imprinted tender sorrow
lines upon them. Index are they still
to fond. soft heart; for, as Miss Mar
tingale folds up her keepsake in an al
most endless succession of yellow envel.
opes, and her eyes on one with the ad-
dress in masculine hand, Miss Nj.
MartIngale, care of Mrs. Dormer, Hat
field House seminary, Wadsworth," a
warm veil suddenly obscures her line OF
vision, and tear and sigh fall to-
gether.
"What a silly creature 1 am, to be
surel' Miss Martingale soliloquizes, as
she steps to her desk to lock up the
photograph packet in the most secluded
drawer. ut is ridiculous and wrong III
me to indulge these vain regrets and
fancies, Why cannot bury them, as
sensible woman ought to bury themi
am not girl. I am not even a young
woman now, Ought not once for al
to put these bygones from me, and never
again revive hopes that can never be re-
allied? But 1 can'r And yet" she con
tinued, 'it is very lonely living here all
these years. with not soul to love ex'
cept other peoples children, instead Of
being so happy, as it might have been il
oh, botherl How I'm getting senti-
mental again in spite of myself Posi-.
lively cryiug-as if that's any good"
To Miss Martingale's surprise she dis
covers on her return to the room that
the girl has for some unaccountable rea'
son left it in darkness. save for the lamp
light, albeit she had remained behind
ostensibly for that purpose.
"Why, dear me, Kate, arn't you there2'
Miss Martiugale exclaims, as she gropes
for the bell. The girl hasn' even Close q
the shuttersl'
Perhaps it is as we'll tie shutters arc
open, fer the lsmplight, shining full
across the table so rs to obscure every
thing else in deeper shade, throws q
ghuslly sheen upon the white envelopt
of a letter lying there, addressed, surely
enough to the mistress OF the house, her
self.
"What2 The handwriting-th origin
ais handwriting Now, surely, surely,
this cannot beP
Miss Martingale is halfway into q
swoon from fright.
From him2 No, of course not. How
ridiculousl
Nevertheless, her breath comes il
quick, short gasps as sue rereads the
superscription. When she summons
up courage to open the Inissive, and, by
sIraining her eyes at the window, sue
D ceeds in deeiDhering the contents, yor
may, fguraiively speaking, knock dow
e Miss MaTIingale by the simple operation
9 of blowing at her.
My DEAR MARY: / am afraid that lonl
ere this you have gwen up wasting you
thoughts upon 70 worthless an object a
e am Yet, ememberiug the an ctiol
We once had tor each otuer | an tempt
ed, eVea after this lOug silenos-hOy
y painful TO both OF us-tO hope You hayl
u uot quite forgotten me. My two las
is letters 10 you must have miscarTlvd, 10
q they were never answered. After l ha'
waited long / heard YOU were married
= aud. in despair at what | thought you
cruelty and faithlessGess, hated ever l.
, return home. Only recently discover
ed "a mistake aud learned how patient
'e ~ through all these years you have. as
st sill hope, cherished my unworthy mem
D. ory. Dear Mary, is 1t too later GUY