The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1884-01-10
NUMBER FIFTEEN.

L
1 write story. Some authors like to.
commence story in the middle and
work at both ends; bat that isn't my
way. or. rather it wouldn't be my way If
I was in the habit Of writing stories,
which, thank Heaven, am not. get
my living In respectable way, by the
sweat of my brow, not by writing lies for
newspapers. Consequently I've but one
story to write, and that is my own.
My:.name is Roderick McStivers, and
I'm native Of the good old town ofTad.
mouth; I'm forty years old if I'm day,
and, if I do say it. as good looking for
my age as any man you ever set eyes On.
Twenty years ago I was fully as hand
some as am now, and at that time I
was engaged to the charming Mary Black.
the belle of Falmouth. That was the
beginning Of ell my woe-that engage
ment. I was poor then Il own the largest
boot mandatory in Falmouth to-day
and the Lord only knew when 1 should
be able to marry Mary. But she said
she didn't care, she could wait two or
three centuries Just as we'll as not, If I'd
only he true to her meantime
Sooner shall the blue ocean melt to cir,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,
Than l resign thiae image, oh my fair!
Or think Ut aovthing excepting tree
that's just what said. You wouldn't
think, to look at me now, that I could
say any thing quite so soft as the above.
would you, ell? Bless you! / had more
poetry in my head twenty years ago
than you could shake stick at.
Many are poets who have never penn'd
Their inspirations, and perchance the best.
That's what's the trouble with me. If
I hadn't confined myself to leather. I
should have played the deuce with "the
nine." Well, you understand from the
above that Mary and were all right.
sEore that I'd be true, and she di:toed;
but, bless me, my dear sir, the sweet
girl had father, and he was not 80
young as We were by several years.
''Those were days when my heart was
volcanic" but the old gentlelnan's palpi-
:ator was as hard and cold rs cast-irOn
grindstone. The pa,ernal Black did not
believe much in love, you see.
He had married for money, and, in
his opinion, that was the only thing
HOIIu uhET lIIS IOE anu 80, instead OF
throwing his only child away upon
miserable vaga:ond like myself, he very
unceremoniously showed me the door
one evening, and the very next day
brought lover of hie own choosing
bone to Mary The lovers name was
Bunsby, and be rolled in gold, metaphor
!calIy speaking; owned fine house in
New York, and had horses, carriages
and servants "too numerous to men
iion." On, why should l linger over
ibis period of my existence Pm sure
don't know why, and hang me if do.
You guess the rest. Mary was dag
sled with her new lovers wealth. She
.orgot poor Roderick McStivera, and
married rhos. Bunsby. Esq, and IL,
alas, was not invited to the wedding!
Anything more heartless than the above
can scarcely be imagined, suppose /
night have .'gone into MOURNING
They told me couldn't be nun on &C.
count o: my sex.
"Oh, what shall do?' asked, in a
voice that sounded horribly strange, not
outstanding that it was nv own. l
1efy you to tell me what l did do. In
Tue light OF my twenty years experience
am convinced that did the best thing
could under the circumstances.
harriet my boarding mistress. She
vas So and l was 20 years of age; she
Was