Connecticut western news., 1885-02-11


 Albert and Will, my boys, were older than the girls; Albert in business with me, and Will at college, the winter when Joanna and Susie made their debut.
 It would take me quite too long to tell of the pleasures of the young folks during this winter, but Joanna was won from us by a Cuban gentleman, and Susie became, if possible, dearer than ever.
 Spring had come, when one evening Albert came into my library, where was plodding over book, having worked busily all day. He fussed about the books in 8 nervous way, quite unlike his usual quiet manner and finally said:
 "Father, you have often said Susie is as dear to you as one of your own chill dren."
 I looked up amazed at this opening speech.
 "Well?" asked.
 "Will you make her your daughter in fact by giving her to me for wife ?'
 Dear dear To think I had been so blind. Susie had in truth become so much one of our children that was as much astonished as if Albert had fallen in love with Joanna.
 But soon found, when Susie's blush ing face was hidden upon my breast, that she, too, had given away her heart, and was only too well pleased that no stranger had won the precious gift.
 In September they were married, my son and the child of our adoption, and gave them house next our own for @ home, having old-fashioned ideas about such matters, and believing it is better for young married people to live by themselves and assume housekeeping cares.
 The new home was gem of neatness under Susie's dainty fingers, and the spirit of perfect love kept it ever bright. Having been brother and sister for so many years, Albert and Susie thorough ly understood each others dispositions and have never known domestic hap piness more perfect than theirs. Susie's first child, named for her father, John Harmon, was two years old, when the mail brought me letter in an unknown hand from Cincinnati. opened it, and upon 8 large sheet of paper found written, in scrawling, un- even hand, three lines:
 "DEAR SIR: Will you come to me at AT M street without letting Susie know. JOHN HARMON"
 At first believed it was hoax. John had written bold, clerk-like hand, clear as print. This was 8 scrawl, struggling all over the paper, uneven as the first penmanship of little child. --
 But the moro I pondered over the matter the more was inclined to obey the summons. So pleading business, saying nothing of the letter to any one, left home by the night train for Cin- cinnati.
 No. AT M street I found to be 8 boarding house for the poorest classes, and in shabby room, half furnished, I found an aged, worn man, perfectly blind, who rose to greet me, sobbing.
 "Fred, I knew you would come."
 "Why, old friend," said, when sur prise and emotion would let me speak, Chow is this2 We thought you were dead"
 ''Does Susie think so ?"
 ''Yes. We all gave you up."
 ''Do not undeceive her, Fred. l meant to como home to her rich, able to gratify every desire of her girlish heart. Do not let her know that only a blind, sick wreck is left for her to call father. Tell me of her, Fred. Is she well? Is she happy?"
 ''She is both, John-a happy wife and mother"
 Married My little Susie ?'
 "Married to Albert, my son, of whom you may judge when I tell you folks say he is his father over again."
 ''I would ask no more for my child, ' said John.
 Then, in answer to my anxious ques. lions, he told me the story Of the years of silence. He was preparing to pay ut his promised visit when 8 great firC broke out in San Francisco, that ruined his employer for the time, and swep away row of buildings uninsured, ir which John had invested all his savings Worst of all, in trying to save the books of the firm, John was injured on the head by @ falling beam, and lay fol months in hospital. When he so fal recovered as to be discharged, his mind was still impaired, and he could not per form the duties of clerk or superintend ent, while kis health was too feeble fol manual labor.
 "I struggled for daily bread alone, Fred,"' he told me, ''and when I re ceived your loving letters, and dear Su sie's, would not write, hoping to senG better tidings if waited for turn o fortunes wheel. It never came, Fred. left California three years ago, and cam here, where was promised the place 0 foreman in a great pork packing house I saved little money and was hopinl for better times when my health failed again, and this time with it my eye-sight I hoped against hope, spending my say , ings to have the best advice, and no until I was pronounced incurable woul I write to you. I want you to take m 10 an asylum, Fred; and, as I must b a pauper patient, I must go to my owl town. You will take me, Fred ?"
 "I will take you to an asylum, John, I promised.
 "And Susie? You will keep my SC cret. You will not disturb Susie's hap ) piness ?''
 7 "I will not trouble Susie's happiness, . I said.